


Friends

by amourlouis (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Harry, But also, Fetus Harry, Fetus Louis, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Harry Styles Has a Crush on Louis Tomlinson, Harry works at a library, Heartbroken Harry tbh, Homophobic Language, Jealous Harry, Kids, Library, Library Sex, M/M, So much angst, Top Louis, Unnecessary Snogging at all times, and drug use, and that will be, because im a top louis girl, eventually that is, for some of it at least, i cant believe thats a tag, if you know what that is, it's like, skinny love, thats it thats all im doing this took me like 10 minutes, there will be smut eventually, theyre kids in the beginning of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/amourlouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one in which Harry’s mum is a librarian and Louis is an eager reader who loves to smile. Harry watches Louis grow, but the years begin to age him terribly and suddenly things don’t seem so lovely anymore. [or, an angsty short story cheesily based off ‘Friends’ by Ed Sheeran. and my nerdy, librarian harry fantasies. <i>and</i> my love for harry and louis as kids growing into adults and then falling in love.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One.

**Author's Note:**

> hiya :o) this is my baby. i've been working on this story for ages and the updates are pretty slow, but it's almost finished at this point so i decided to finally post what i have on ao3. you can find it on wattpad here if you'd like. this story originally started as a one shot that i ended up breaking into parts and then making into a short story, so the plot fluctuates a bit as i shifted my ideas around. if that even makes any sense to anyone other than myself. please enjoy anyway!!

He's too short; the first time he comes to the counter, Harry almost misses him. He's hidden behind the thing. In fact, if he hadn't been babbling excitedly from behind the wood, he probably would have gone unnoticed. 

There was a woman with a baby in her arms, though; Harry could see  _that._ She smiled at Harry's own mum and said something that Harry can't remember. He's too busy trying to climb the shelves of the back of the counter to sit on top. 

He peers down over the edge curiously and is surprised to see another boy.

Harry's never really been one for introductions, so he stares down at the boy (who stares right back) until the woman with the baby directs her attention over to him.

"And who's this?"

"This is Harry," Harry cowers into his mother silently, blinking through long eyelashes at the mention of his name. "He's five."

"Oh, really? Louis here is seven; say hi, Louis!"

"Hi, Louis!" crows the other boy. Harry gapes in awe at him as he stands on his tip-toes and peeks right over the edge of the counter, smiling brightly even though he's missing one of his front teeth. 

"Tell her what you need, Boo."

"I need a li-bary card!" this  _Louis_ boy announces proudly. Harry's brow furrows.  _He_ doesn't have a library card. He doesn't like Louis, he decides. He's older and older boys are never nice to Harry.

The woman with the baby laughs along with Harry's mum, but Harry is still confused as to why Louis is staring at him and why he only has one front tooth. Did he get into a tussle? Is he a pirate? Harry doesn't really like pirates. Even more reason not to like Louis. 

"Sure thing, Louis!"

Within five minutes, Louis has his library card. He's beaming at it like it's the ticket to all of his happiness and when the small group exits the room, their interlocked hands are swinging as Louis skips happily. 

Harry just blinks through long eyelashes.

______

The second time he comes to the counter is two weeks later. 

"Hi, Mrs. Librarian!" Louis is bouncing up and down, so Harry can actually see him this time. "Got lotsa books to check out t'day!"

"Is that so?" Anne chuckles, accepting Louis' small stack of chapter books and scanning them with the scan gun that has red lights that look like lasers. Anne has told Harry they aren't actually lasers, but Harry isn't sure he believes her, so he stays away from the scan gun. Louis isn't staring at him this time, so he leaves his thumb in his mouth and watches him quietly. Louis is fidgety and smiley. Harry still doesn't like him, though.

"Do you have your library card, Louis?" she asks. Louis shoves a small plastic card up onto the counter and tries to slide it closer with his little hand. He can't quite reach, so Harry leans forward and grabs it for him. 

Louis' eyes fall on Harry as Anne begins to scan his card.

"Hiya, Harry," Louis smiles. Harry squeaks, scooting closer to his mother and nearly falling off of the counter in the process. 

Louis' books have been scanned, but Anne is staring at Harry too now. He feels very uncomfortable. "Say hello, Harry, don't be rude."

"H-hi," he says quietly, because he really doesn't like talking to strangers. Or pirates. And Louis is both of those. 

Louis looks like he wants to say something else, but the same woman who was with him last time appears without her baby and takes him by the hand. He accepts his books and his library card and turns to leave, but this time, there is no skipping. Louis keeps turning his head every few seconds to peer back at Harry.

Harry decides he's not going to sit on the counter when Louis comes anymore.

_______

Louis comes in again three days later.

"Finished all these books already, Louis?" 

"Yup!" Louis grins, and he's missing his other front tooth now. Harry's intruiged. How can he eat biscuits with no front teeth? Does he live off of ice cream? Harry wouldn't mind living off of ice cream, as long as it was Rocky Road ice cream. Harry quite likes Rocky Road ice cream. 

"How's come you never talk?" Louis asks as Anne slides his card back over the counter. Harry flinches, drops his blankie, and begins to whimper as it falls to the ground across the counter. Louis' eyes immediately widen in concern, and he bends down and grabs the thing from the carpet and tries to hand it back to a now wailing Harry. "Here, take it, take it!"

Harry takes it hastily, snuffling and huffing. He's mad at Louis, but he knows Anne will scold him if he doesn't do the right thing. "Tank you."

"Tank you?" Louis giggles. "You mean  _thank_ you?"

"Harry has trouble pronouncing his letters sometimes," his mum explains, petting Harry's hair soothingly as he glares at Louis through teary eyes.

"Oh.. is it the H part?" Louis asks. "Alright, then, I'll call you.. 'Arry. The H can be silent."

Harry doesn't really know what that means, but his mum laughs and Louis is turning to go get new books before he really can do much of anything. 

"Mumma," he whines, "Don't like 'im."

"Why not?" Anne hoists Harry down from the counter and hands him a tissue to wipe his eyes and nose with.

Anne explains to Harry that Louis is in fact  _not_ a pirate, and he does  _not_ live off of Rocky Road ice cream, and the woman who comes with Louis is his mum, and Harry doesn't need a library card because Anne  _is_ the librarian.

Harry maybe hates Louis a little less now.

________

Harry is six when Louis comes to his house for the first time. 

Weekly library visits had lead to a fast friendship between Jay and Anne, and soon library visits become house visits at least once a month. Harry isn't very good at sharing, and Louis still doesn't understand why the smaller boy is so quiet, but at age eight he believes he is wiser and takes it upon himself to be a good and patient role model for Harry to look up to.

"That piece doesn't go there, 'Arry," Louis informs the younger boy. He gently pries the puzzle piece from Harry's little hand and sticks it in its proper place. "See? You gotta match the colors 'n stuff, otherwise it won't work."

"Colors?" Harry's never done a puzzle before. He usually just watches the telly or reads books with his mum. Sometimes they play Candyland. Harry wonders if Louis has ever played Candyland. "But there's so  _many_ colors!"

"Yeah, that's the fun part!"

"Is not fun," Harry decides, sitting back from the puzzle and poking his thumb back into his mouth. Louis and Harry go to the same school, and Louis is well aware of the fact that Harry gets picked on for his 'baby' habits, such as sucking on his thumb like he currently is as well as dragging his blankie around. Louis frowns, because he wishes Harry would stop. He doesn't like to see Harry cry.

"Um," Harry mumbles a few moments later. "Candyland?"

"What about it, 'Arry?"

"We can play?"

"Do you want to?" Louis asks. Harry blinks up it him shyly. "I'll take that as a yes." Louis crawls over to the small shelf of games and toys in Harry's bedroom. He grabs Candyland from the top and scoots back over to where Harry's already destroyed the puzzle and is throwing the pieces up in the air to amuse himself. "Hey, 'Arry, don't throw the pieces! You might lose one!"

Harry glares at Louis as he begins to gather them up and tuck them away in their box. However, as the pair begin an intense game of Candyland, his mood picks back up. 

And that's how every play-date is spent. Candyland and Rocky Road ice cream.

___________

Harry is nine and Louis is eleven turning twelve in two days when Louis admits that he has a girlfriend. 

It's at one of his library visits that he grabs Harry's hand and drags him from next to his mum behind the counter and over to the bean bag chairs by the children's literature.

"What is it, Lou?" Harry asks, squirming anxiously in his chair as he eyes the large stack of books Louis' just checked out. The library is closed tomorrow and for most of holiday break, so Louis had explained to Harry that this was his way of stocking up. He still has the same library card from four years ago. 

"You know that girl that I told you about; Tabitha?" Louis whispers excitedly, his blue eyes sparkling as Harry nods and scoots closer in his chair. His small nine-year-old body is practically swimming in the thing. "Well, we kissed!"

"What?" Harry squaks, and Louis shushes him with a pointed look to his mum, who is going through some picture books with Lottie a few aisles away. 

"Yeah, it was after school. We were hanging out before footie practice and she said that she liked me and, bam!" Louis is adorable, Harry thinks. "Kiss!"

"How was it?" Harry asks, but it's not as enthusiastic as Louis sounds because for some reason, Harry isn't as happy for Louis as he should be. Is eleven even  _old_ enough to have a girlfriend? Harry wishes he was eleven, because then  _he_ could be Louis' girlfriend.

"Wet," Louis wrinkles his nose, "It was kinda weird. But she's really pretty, 'Arry."

"I know," because Harry does know. He's seen Tabitha, and he agrees that she  _is_ very pretty with her long, dark brown hair and her big doe-like blue eyes. She plays footie with Louis, too, and Harry  _knows_ Louis has had a crush on her for a long time. 

"D'ya think I should get her a Christmas present and give it to her when we get back from holiday?" Louis asks breathlessly, eyes widening with delight when Harry forces another nod. "What do you think girls like?"

"Nail paint!" Harry gasps, because he's alwas been fascinated by nail paint. "Or necklaces."

Louis nods again like it's the best plan he's ever heard. "Yeah, yeah! Thanks, 'Arry!" Harry blushes, because Louis  _still_ uses that nickname, and he'd be lying if he said he doesn't love it. Even if he  _can_ pronounce his H's properly now.

"You're welcome," Harry whispers as Louis stands up to give him a hug, because he really loves Louis' hugs. 

It was their last shared Christmas.

________

The next fall, Louis starts the secondary school across town while Harry is still stuck in elementary. The play-dates stop, because Louis insists that  _playing_ is for  _babies_ and Harry is secretly disappointed even though he agrees. He always makes sure that his mum is working the check-out counter every Monday afternoon, because that's when Louis comes to the library. 

When Louis does come to the library, he doesn't stay for long. His stacks of chapter books have become a small pile of encyclopedias and books for his studies. His usual casual conversations have become a quick and meaningless jumble of small-talk in which no one even makes eye contact with one another. Harry doesn't like it, but he's ten and he  _has_ other friends. 

Niall is his best friend, but Niall doesn't come to the library often because Niall doesn't like to read like Louis does. Niall doesn't like to sit and talk about Harry Potter like Louis does and Niall doesn't like to play hide-and-seek in between the aisles of books. 

Harry doesn't miss Louis, though, honest. It's not like he never sees him. Louis is just getting older and he's busy now, Harry understands. Sometimes he talks about Tabitha if Harry asks, and sometimes he talks about Fizzy if Anne asks. Its good, it really is.

Everything is fine, and when Louis doesn't invite Harry to his thirteenth birthday party, Harry is convinced it's because he doesn't actually have a party. 

________

Louis is fifteen and Harry is thirteen when he stops coming to the library. 

Harry is old enough to run the check-out counter by himself for a while now, so every Monday afternoon he waits patiently for Louis to come in.

But he never does. 

Harry wishes he knew why Louis has stopped coming to the library. Louis is at the school for the older kids. Harry isn't sure he'll ever catch up to him. Being in secondary school is the worst. He gets picked on a lot by the other boys and he has no interest in getting a girlfriend or snogging behind the cafeteria after school. He likes his books and he likes his poetry that he started writing earlier in the year, and everything is fine. He's got Niall and Liam and they're great, but he wishes Louis would come back.

He misses Louis, but he hasn't felt like he's actually had Louis since he left for secondary school. 

One day though, Louis  _does_ come in. Only, he's not by himself.

There's a pretty girl with her hair dyed red holding on to his hand tightly as he walks up to the counter and plunks a big fat book about Jupiter onto the counter, tossing his card on top carelessly and turning his attention back to his girl. Harry stares at the book for a second before he hastily scans it, shyly slipping it back to Louis. 

"Why don't you ever come to get books anymore?" Harry asks quietly as he scans Louis' card. Louis stops smiling at the girl and does a double take as he looks at Harry.

"Bloody hell, Harry. It's been a long time," Louis smiles. Harry swallows heavily, because he didn't mind that much when Louis was still calling him 'Arry, but, whatever. "Sorry, this is Becca. Becca, Harry."

"Hi," Becca says, but she doesn't look too pleased with Harry for interrupting their conversation. "We have a library in our school, why would he come here?"

"I came because I needed a book that we didn't have already," Louis softens Becca's snap with an actual explanation. Harry's hands are sweating. Louis looks so beautiful, his hair tucked under a beanie and his blue eyes lit up with happiness, even if Harry isn't the cause of it. "Becs and I have an astronomy project due on Wednesday."

"And this bloke decided to wait until the last minute to complete his half of it," the Becca girl chimes in, rolling her eyes when Louis kisses her cheek. Harry kinda wants to gag. A lot. 

"Love you too, Becca," Louis grins, taking his book and sliding his card into his back pocket, and then they're gone, hangs swinging together just like Louis' and Jay's did the first time he ever came into the library.

And Harry is fine, he is. 

______

When Harry is finally fourteen and ready to move up to the school Louis attends, he's beyond excited to be reunited with his former best friend. He even asks his mum if she can find out when Louis has lunch from Jay. Unfortunately for Harry, none of their classes match up, but that's okay with Harry. He can always watch a few of Louis' practices.

It's not that great, though, because Harry sees Louis in the hallways a lot. 

And Louis does  _not_ look like Louis anymore.

It's not because he's dyed his hair purple or grown five inches taller, it's not because he's suddenly got a third arm, but Harry can see it in his eyes as they pass. Louis is different now.

The blue isn't bright anymore. It's hazy and unfocused. Louis looks like a zombie lumbering down to his classes with pale, sweaty skin and twitchy fingers. He's always laughing and walking with his friends, but he's dangerously thin-looking and his hair has lost its body. It's limp and thin and not as shiny as it used to be, but maybe Harry only notices all these things because he's Harry.

One during seventh hour, Harry bumps into Louis exiting the loo just as Harry tries to walk into it. Louis opens his mouth to speak with a hard glare set on his face until he looks unto familiar green eyes that he hasn't seen for over a year and swallows his insult. "Harry?"

"Louis," Harry breathes. "Uh. Hi."

"Hi," Louis says, "You've really grown, huh?" Because Harry is as tall as him even though he's two years younger. He kind of resembles a baby giraffe, Louis thinks.

"Yeah," Harry replies. "But maybe you would have known that if you actually talked to me anymore."

Louis shifts his books in his arms awkwardly, trying to step around Harry, but Harry remains as still and firm as a stone. "Look, I'm sorry, but I really have to get back to class."

"Why are you so jumpy?" Harry asks, because Louis flinches away as soon as Harry reaches out to tuck a sliding paper back into Louis' folder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, now move," Louis snaps. "Please."

"Lou-"

"Don't call me that. My name is Louis," Louis knocks Harry out of the way gently with his shoulder and begins to walk away quickly, the bounce in his step that was once there now gone. Harry watches him retreat for a few seconds before he sighs and steps into the bathroom.

As soon as he opens the door, the smell hits him.

His eyes widen in shock as he turns to look the direction Louis had gone, but Louis is out of his sight. 

________

Harry's working at the library at age sixteen, and he's not spoken to Louis since the bathroom incident two years ago. He doesn't really think about Louis anymore. Louis doesn't speak to him, and Harry almost never sees him in the hallways anymore since he's in his final year of schooling and Harry mostly sticks to his own grade level's hallway.

"Have a lovely day," he tells Judith, the old woman who often stops by to pick up cookbooks, and he smiles at her politely as she turns and shakily makes her way to the door. Harry bends down to organize some things under the counter, humming to himself as he straightens up the stacks of reserved books and fresh, new, unused library cards.

"Uh.. anyone there?" a voice asks from somewhere, startling Harry and causing him to bang his head against the top of the counter. He curses quietly, standing back up quickly and rubbing at his curls irrirtably.

"Can I help-" he begins snarkily, glaring at the computer screen until he turns and faces the visitor. "You?  _Louis?_ "

"Yeah, hi," Louis' eyes are hazy again. Harry doesn't like it. Louis does seem to be looking better though, he seems more like himself appearance-wise and he's got a small blonde girl in his arms. She's blinking at Harry with eyes that are much too similar to Louis' for Harry to be remotely comfortable. "Um, my mum sent me to pick up something for Lottie? I think it's.. something about agriculture?"

Harry ducks down again, maybe a little too quickly, but, whatever. He only sees one book that he thinks could be the one Louis' looking for, so he snatches it and hands it to the slightly shorter boy. He accepts it and scans the cover before handing it to his sister and smiling at Harry. "Thanks. Hold it for me, Phoebe, I've gotta get my card."

He fumbles around for a little before he slaps the very same card he got all those years ago on the counter. The writing on it is faded, but the name written in bright red is still visible and Harry's heart clenches just a little at all the memories. If he has a crush on the Louis he used to know, it's not a big deal. 

Harry scans it and slides it back over, but he panicks as Louis turns to leave. "Wait!"

Louis turns back around in bewilderment, staring at Harry with wide, expectant eyes. "What?"

"Can we talk? Just for like, a minute," Harry's voice cracks and he tries to cover it up with a cough, but ends up making it way worse. Louis sets Phoebe down and Harry sees her waddle over to the basket of candy by the library door eagerly. 

"Uh, I guess?" Louis seems hesitant, but he puts his elbows on the counter and leans over anyway, just like he used to. Harry wants to wail. 

"I know you're doing drugs, Louis," Harry whispers, and Louis shoots back so quickly that Harry's surprised he doesn't fall over.

"Excuse me?" Louis hisses, and Harry looks at him sadly.

"You don't even have to deny it-"

"Who told you?" Louis asks quickly,  leaning forward and grabbing Harry by the collar of his shirt. "Was it Zayn? Stan?  I swear to God, Harry, if you told anyone-"

"I didn't tell anyone!" Harry chokes, because Louis is holding onto his shirt kind of hard and it's getting increasingly harder to breathe. "And - I smelt it, in the bathroom, when we last saw each o-other." 

"Don't say a word to anyone, Styles," Louis is staring at Harry with huge eyes, and Harry whimpers quietly, because Louis looks  _scary_ and Harry really hates it. "Actually, go ahead. No one is going to believe a loser like you anyway."

Harry swears his heart has literally fallen from his chest into his stomach. "W-what?"

"You wonder why I stopped talking to you, Harry? You've got no friends," Louis laughs humorlessly, "You're an outcast. No one likes you, Harry, and you're  _gay._ Who would want to be friends with someone like  _that?_ "

Harry is blinking hard and trying not to cry, but he feels too choked up to even speak, so Louis continues on. "And you're not very attractive, either. Let your hair grow, stop wearing dorky t-shirts and sweater vests and ditch the glasses, for Christ's sake. Hate to break it to you mate, but you're working at a fucking library. If you said a word about me to anyone at school, they'd just laugh, because they'd know you're an attention-seeking fag-"

"Louis? Is that you?" Harry's never been so grateful to hear his mum's voice in his entire life. Louis immediately lets go of Harry and takes a step back, smiling at Anne the same exact way he had smiled at Harry five minutes ago. 

"Hi, Anne, just picking something up for Lottie," he says, and then his gaze snaps back to a teary-eyed Harry. "Nice seeing you, Harry. Remember what I said, yeah?"

Harry can't even move, not when Anne asks him why he's crying, not when she refuses to let him finish his shift, not when he somehow ends up in his bed at night and not for the rest of the school year, because his heart is so shattered that he swears it's damaged beyond repair. 

He knows that Louis is right. 

_______

Harry is nineteen and attending university. He still works at the library part-time to bring in enough cash to support himself and his cat in their small apartment downtown. He's still a huge book nerd and he's studying to become a journalist. He still wears dorky t-shirts and he still wears his glasses, but he kind of likes the way he looks without them better, so he decides to invest in some contacts.

Harry hasn't thought of Louis Tomlinson once since he was seventeen. He's been in a steady relationship for the past year and a half and he's still friends with Niall and Liam even though they've both moved to other places and started lives of their own.

He comes in just after closing.

Harry is locking up when he hears footsteps on the concrete approaching him. He pays an unhurried glance up to the young man who's huffing and puffing as he sprints toward Harry. Harry sighs as the man comes to a stop a few feet way, doubled over and panting. 

And then he straightens up. 

"Listen, mate, I know it's late but I  _really_ need to speak with the head librarian. Anne. Anne Cox," Louis doesn't seem to recognize Harry, but Harry is frozen. 

"Um, her name is Anne Twist now," he blurts, and Louis' brow furrows.

"Okay, whatever; is she around?"

"No," Harry says, and Louis visibly saddens. "But, if you want, you can talk to her son."

"Oh, really? You know him?" Louis asks quietly, kicking a stone across the road. "How.. how is he?"

"I'm doing fine, no thanks to you," Harry snaps, and Louis' head shoots up. His expression turns from confusion into realization within mere seconds. "Where have you been for the past few years? Getting stoned? Don't worry, I never told anyone, because I'm just an attention-seeking fag. Right, Louis, is that what you said? I can't remember your exact words, please, clue me in?"

"Listen, Harry, I'm sorry about that," Louis begins.

"Apology sure as hell not accepted," Harry interrupts, "You can't just show up after  _two bloody years_ of not speaking to me and call me a  _fag,_ Louis. You can't just walk in and out of my life whenever you want to. I don't need you to take up space in my mind anymore."

"Please, I came all this way just to talk to you," Louis whimpers, and Harry finds it terribly ironic how the roles have changed. "I was in a bad place."

"I don't want to hear it-"

" _Please,_ " Louis puts a hand on Harry's chest to stop him from walking away, and Harry immediately tenses. "Please, just hear me out. Give me a chance."

"Why should I? We're not even friends, and we haven't been since I was, like, ten," Harry pushes Louis' hand off. He doesn't know why he's so angry, because it's not like he and Louis had been close before their last encounter. "Go back to your buddies, I have a  _boyfriend_ to get home to."

"Boyfriend?" Louis squeaks, and the word sounds so foreign leaving his mouth. "Y-you.. since when?" 

"A year and a half ago, in fact, our eighteen month anniversary was last week," Harry says quietly. "Goodbye, Louis."

"I-" Louis begins to speak, but Harry pushes past him and walks away the same way Louis did back in school. 

But he wishes he didn't feel so bad about it.

___

 


	2. Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this bit is rather short and kind of odd please mull through it with me (holds your hand)

Louis is asleep against the front door of the library the next morning when Harry and his mother arrive. 

"What -  _Louis?"_ Harry pokes Louis' side with his foot. Anne stares down at the older boy in concern as Harry continues to nudge him; Louis wakes with a start and grabs onto Harry's leg. 

"Bloody hell, get off of me!" Harry snaps, shaking himself free of Louis' confused grip. Louis blinks up at the two of them as he stretches.

"Oh, hi."

"Hi?  _Hi?_ " Harry is beyond furious. "What the  _hell_ \- did you sleep here?"

"Maybe," Louis winces; bricks aren't soft. And neither is concrete.

"You know, there is such a thing as hotels," Harry snorts, but he hands Anne his bag and his keys and helps a very stiff Louis up. Louis leans on Harry as he groans, rubbing at his lower back and sighing. He's got dark circles under his eyes and everytime he breathes Harry can hear the shortness of it. He wonders how long Louis' been sleeping against buildings.

"Yeah, well. You need money for those, and I haven't got any of that."

"You should have gone home, then."

"Haven't got one of those either," Louis says quietly, directing his gaze elsewhere. It's quiet for a few moments (Harry looks to Anne desperately for help; she shrugs and makes some wild motion with her hands) until Louis clears his throat. "Can we please talk? I've been, um. I've been waiting for you."

Harry cocks an eyebrow at Louis. "I have work."

"After that?"

"I have class."

"When are you free, then?"

"Next Thursday," Harry says shortly. Louis scowls, but he hobbles into the library as Anne unlocks the front door and plops down into one of the comfortable arm chairs. He sighs in relief, kicking his shoes off and curling into the seat.

"Louis, keep your feet off of that-" Harry turns around to face Louis after he's taken his jacket off and flicked on a few light switches, but Louis has already fallen back asleep.

Harry sighs to himself as he watches Louis' chest rise and fall quickly with each greedy breath he takes. He looks so small and helpless; his clothes are dirty, Harry notices, and his hair looks more like a bird's nest than anything else. His lips are chapped and his hands are gripping the material of the chair between them like he's afraid to drift away, and suddenly Harry realizes just how close he's standing to Louis and how much he misses what they used to have.

There's not time for any of that nonsense, he thinks, so he grabs a blanket from the children's reading circle and tosses it over Louis' small body. And that's that, really, he starts his day by scanning in books that had been dropped in the return book overnight and if he pays Louis one too many glances for it to be casual, then no one has to know.

Louis wakes up after about an hour. Harry didn't have the heart to disturb his slumber, especially not since Louis looked like he had possibly frozen halfway to death overnight and he was  _Louis._ He limps over to Harry's front desk pathetically, dragging the blanket behind him. He tosses it up onto the counter and shakily, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out something small.

The card.

Harry can't fight the goofy smile that makes its way onto his face when Louis slides it across the counter. "Do you guys have any of the Harry Potter books in right now?"

"We do, actually. Aisle two in the young adult section," Harry says quietly, and when he hears Louis begin to pad away he looks up and raps his knuckles on the surface of the counter. Louis' head whips around to look at Harry. "Oh, and. We can talk over my lunch break. Just.. keep out of the way, yeah? Don't touch anything you're not supposed to."

"Okay," Louis nods, but he's smiling too.

___

Harry's lunch break comes surprisingly fast, and soon he's got a cold chicken salad and a shy Louis Tomlinson sitting in front of him in the employee's lounge. 

It's not how he had originally planned for his day to go, but it's whatever.

"So," Harry begins, stabbing a lettuce leaf with his fork. Louis stares at the bowl hungrily, and a small part of Harry's brain jumps to the assumption that it's been a long time since Louis' had anything to eat. Harry doesn't know if it would be more rude to ignore it or to ask. "How have you been?"

"Not the greatest." Louis' eyes flicker from the salad back up to Harry's lips as he chews slowly. Harry taps his foot under the table and pushes the salad toward Louis.

"Eat."

"What? No, I'm not even hungry. It's your food, you probably paid good money for it-"

"Louis. Eat."

"I don't want to eat," Louis mutters, curling in on himself as Harry pushes the salad even closer to him. "I want to talk."

"Okay, well. We're not talking until you eat something. Anything. Just eat a crouton or sommat," Harry urges.

"No."

"Louis."

"I can't, okay? I can't eat," Louis looks away. "I just can't."

"Why not?"

"I just  _can't,_ " Louis hisses. Harry pulls the bowl back to its starting position reluctantly, eyeing Louis as he sets down his fork and digs around in his bag. Louis raises an eyebrow at him as he pushes the lid on the bowl and tucks it away. "What are you doing?"

"If you're not eating, I'm not eating."

Louis bites his lip. "Fine."

"Fine."

It's silent for a few moments before Harry clears his throat (and tries to ignore the pitful growling of his stomach) and scooches his chair closer. "Why haven't you been the greatest?"

"It's a long story, and I know you haven't got time," Louis' eyes shine with sincerity. "I just wanted to come here to.. actually, I don't know why I came here. I just. I felt like this was a safe bet. I don't like sleeping on park benches, see."

"It's been years." Harry runs a hand down his face before he rests his chin atop his palm. "So many years."

"And those years were.. better. I was living with someone. A friend."

"Well, what happened?"

"He kicked me out." 

"Why?"

Louis' lower lip trembles as he scratches the back of his neck idly. "I don't really want to talk 'bout it."

"So, what was your goal, Louis?" Harry sits up straight, rests his hands on the table like he actually has any confidence. "Did you just think you could show up here and I'd let you into my home with absolutely no explanation as to where you've been or what you need?"

"Was kinda hoping, yeah," Louis admits quietly. Harry shakes his head and looks away for a second, glaring at the window and the people walking outside of it.

"But how is that fair?" Harry's voice cracks on the last syllable. "How is that fair to me at all? I feel like you always - you're just - damn it, how do I know that you won't just disappear again? How do I know you won't go back on.. whatever the hell it is you were on? How do I know that this is for real, how do I know that you don't still have some sort of motive against me? How do I know you're even struggling, and why, Louis,  _why_ would you fuck with my emotions so many times?"

"I don't know!" Louis' voice crescendos into a shout. "I don't know."

"If you don't know, you can get the hell out. I don't need this, I don't need you."

"But I need you," Louis brings his fist down on the table. "You are my  _last. Hope._ Please don't turn your back on me. Please."

"I don't-"

"He threw me out because I blew his brother," Louis interrupts breathlessly. Harry does a double take and surveys the area a few times just to make sure he hasn't slipped into a hallucination.

"I'm sorry;  _what?_ "

"I blew his brother."

"But I - you-"

"Blew his brother."

"Yeah yeah, I got that." Harry pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "But why the fuck would you do that?"

"His brother is attractive," Louis shrugs, and Harry finds it mind-blowingly unnatural the way that they've gone from screaming at each other to this, but he's too convinced this is all an awful dream to second guess himself. 

"You're straight."

"Not anymore."

"Is this your way of coming out to me? Because, if so, you're doing a pretty shit job."

"Thanks," Louis toys with his shoe lace as Harry shakes his head.

"You can't just _become_  gay. That's not how it works. That's not how any of this works."

"I think if I'm going to get one chance on this earth, I can decide if I want to be sucking cock or not," Louis taps his index finger on the table as if to emphasise his point. "And it's a decision I take pride in. You know. To not deny myself the pleasure of finding others of my own gender to be attractive. Actually, it's a beautiful thing. I wish I had been able to see it before. I sound like a _proper_  teenage girl, huh?"

"You sound like a douche."

"It's a start."

______

Louis stays at Harry's that night.

Harry's cat doesn't mind. Harry's boyfriend isn't even home (he never is) and Harry likes to pretend that it upsets him.

It doesn't.


	3. Part Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is when my commenters on wattpad started getting frustrated with me ((aka where all the - very unnecessary, but fun to write - angst begins))

 "You  _live_  here?" Louis asks, eyes wide with curiosity as he runs a hand down the dark brown paint of Harry's wall slowly. "Like, all the time?"

"Um, yeah," Harry replies sheepishly, tossing his bag onto his sofa carelessly and lumbering into the kitchen. A ball of fluff darts out from under the kitchen table, snaking around Harry's ankles as he reaches into the cupboard to retrieve two glasses. Harry ignores the meow's and the persistent push at his feet as he fills one with water and one with grape juice. "Shit, Lou, do you still like grape juice?"

Louis takes a beat longer than usual to respond, voice echoing off the dimly lit walls beautifully, "Um, yeah. 's all good."

"Alright." Harry searches for a straw. "I just, 'cause it used to be your favorite. When we were younger."

When Harry returns to the living room with two filled glasses and a prissy cat in tow, he's met with the sight of Louis holding a small black picture frame in his hands and staring at it silently, swaying lightly in his stance as he takes his lower lip between his teeth.

"Louis?" Harry prompts, setting his own water down next to the lamp gently. 

Louis startles, immediately setting the frame down and turning to Harry with a pretty pink blush tinting his cheeks. "Sorry, I was just- looking. Like, I dunno. I just wasn't thinking. Sorry, I don't mean to intrude or anything, it's just that you-"

"It's alright," Harry assures him, sliding the beverage into Louis' small, cold hand. Their gazes lock for a moment as Harry speaks again. "No need to be so jumpy."

"Yeah. Right. Sorry."

Harry furrows his brow as Louis takes a small sip of his juice, setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh and a little purple mustache over his thin lips. "Stop apologizing."

Louis blushes again. "Sor- I mean, shit."

Anxiously, Louis shifts a bit toward the chair he's standing next to, but he jumps with a small gasp as a loud  _meow_ of protest rings through the air. Harry holds back a giggle as Louis looks down in concern at Harry's - now very pissed off, he might add - cat, who has taken the liberty of resting her tail directly under Louis' feet. 

"Oh my God, I haven't even been here for ten minutes and I've already stepped on your cat," Louis stresses. "Sor-"

"Louis?" Harry interrupts, scooping the small cat into his arms before Louis has a heart attack.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up." Harry smiles to himself as he turns to walk down the hallway to the master bedroom, dumps his cat on the bed, and sighs to himself as he's closing the door and walking away. "Don't worry, 's just a cat. Her name is Macy, by the way. Don't fret. Ry steps on her all the time."

"Ry?" Louis asks, staring Harry down as he sits across from Louis on the sofa, the table between them being the only barrier between their feet. 

Harry blushes, licking his lips slowly. "Ryan. My, um, my boyfriend."

Louis visibly tenses at this. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The two sit awkwardly in silence for a few moments, eyes trained on the white carpet lining Harry's floors. It's decorated with random wine stains and small areas where Macy had deemed it appropriate to pee, but it's still familiar and comforting to Harry. His first place. It isn't really _his_ , per se, but with Ryan gone more often than not Harry has taken the liberty of claiming it as completely and solely his, thank you very much. He doesn't see  _Ryan_  helping pay the rent or slaving over a mop and bucket during spring cleaning. 

He doesn't see Ryan very much anymore in general, actually.

"How long have you guys been together?" Louis interrupts the silence, resting his chin on his hand and looking at Harry with those blue, blue,  _blue_ eyes that Harry could swim laps in. He marvels at the beauty of Louis' cheekbones, his raised eyebrows arching over his long lashes and beautiful irises. Even the dark purple of the bags under Louis' eyes are somehow beautiful, contrasting so perfectly to the color of his skin and the dark tattoos marking up his forearms and collarbones. Harry realizes he's spent an entire two minutes staring at Louis, who's looking at him expectantly, so he pretends to clear his throat. 

"Uh, about a year and a half. Our anniversary is in October, so." Harry tries to be casual, but Louis' gaze is burning through his chest. 

"What day?"

"The tenth." Harry chooses to look at Macy's food bowl rather than Louis. 

"Hey, that's in like, two weeks or something," Louis points out. Harry swallows the lump building up in his throat, tucking a loose curl behind his ear quickly. "Where is he?"

"Away," Harry responds.

"Oh." Louis decides not to press this conversation any further, thank God, and settles back into the chair. "This is a real nice place you've got here, H. Cozy."

"Thanks." Harry ignores the nickname. He finally allows himself to look at Louis again. Louis is untying his dirty shoe laces quickly, tossing the muddy things toward the door. He smiles softly at Harry.

"Sorry, I just didn't want to ruin your chair," he says as he brings his knees to his chest and wiggles his sock-covered toes against the cushy material of the chair. Ryan bought that chair. It's the color of Harry's eyes, actually, mossy and fresh, a beautiful eye-catcher in their somewhat dull collection of light brown furniture. "Thanks for letting me stay."

"You're welcome," Harry answers warmly, tone full of sincerity and promise. He snaps out of this immediately, however, blinking in confusion to himself as he follows it up quietly. "But, um. Just for tonight, okay? I'm not a motel. I've got homework to due and work stuff, so I can't have you to watch after all the time. I don't know where you'll go but. I mean, we aren't really friends, technically."

"Right," Louis nods, and when Harry goes to look up at him for confirmation his eyes are already lowered to stare at his feet. Guilt punches Harry in the gut at the slight disappointment in Louis' tone, but he forces himself to ignore it because really, what else is he supposed to do? He feels as if the entire affair is just a dream, because out of all people, why would Louis come running back to Harry? "Not friends. Got it."

"Well," Harry finds himself speaking before he can stop it. "Okay, maybe that was a bit too harsh. We can be friends, Louis. We can do that."

Louis' eyes light up and a crinkly-eye smile spreads across his face as he looks back at Harry. "You mean that?"

Harry doesn't even hesitate, is the thing. "Of course I do." And then Louis is lurching up from the chair, and before Harry knows it Louis has thrown himself into Harry's arms, squeezing Harry tightly to him in a tight hug.

"Oh, thank you, thank you," Louis is smiling against Harry's chest, he can feel it right in his heart. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"I- you're welcome, Louis." Harry's own arms gently wrap around Louis' small back, the large expanse of his hands pressing gently into Louis to keep him from sliding off. "Jesus, Lou, you're really light."

Louis scoots back so he can look Harry in the eyes. Harry does not hold his breath, he does  _not_. "Never mind that. You're really the best, H, you are."

And if Harry smiles right back in his face, well.

It's not a big deal.

_________

"So," Louis pulls the red popsicle from his mouth, smacking his darkened lips together, "Tell me about you."

It's four days later. One night turned into two, two into three, and now Harry is just sort of letting Louis live off his couch. It's not that he pities Louis, he'll have you know, but Louis is actually very nice company to have. He tidies up while Harry's at class and comes with him to work. He organizes books and reads to the children and he even brings Harry small snacks periodically. And, it's great, really. Harry's great. 

"What do you mean?" Harry licks at his own popsicle - blue, of course - and watches Louis clumsily try to wipe the drippy fruit juice from his face with a napkin. "You already know a lot about me."

"Well, yeah, but like. Recent stuff. Tell me what happened." Louis seems to give up on the popsicle, wrapping what's left of it up in his napkin and setting it down on the table. He rests his chin in two hands, staring at Harry expectantly.

Harry purses his lips, mimicking Louis' actions and smiling at the small eye-roll Louis gives him in return. His face is stubbly and pink. Harry wants to caress it, kind of. Just kind of. "Um. Well, I'm in uni. But you already know that. Studying a few different things, but I want to like, become a journalist. So I'm taking some classes for that. Also some creative writing stuff. A few Literature things here and there... some art classes too. I got Macy after I spent a summer volunteering at the animal shelter down the road. I met Ryan at the gym he works at, and like, he got transferred to some other branch two hours away. He's a personal trainer, I think, I don't really know what he does anymore. He stays with his mum, because she lives down there, and he really only comes back to visit on holidays. Sometimes not even then, because his mum doesn't really fancy me that much, so. Y'know. She wants to keep him there all the time. It's hard, because we sort of drifted apart without meaning to." Harry scratches at the skin of his forearm. "Like, we were so great. We even talked about marriage, Lou. Marriage. And now he's gone and it's not hard to reach out to him, it really isn't, I just. I don't. And neither does he. And I can't really explain why not."

Louis is quiet for a moment. "Do you love him?"

Harry opens his mouth, but the answer gets caught in his throat. "I- well, I think-"

"Yes or no?"

He hesitates, but only briefly. "No."

Louis' eyes hold nothing but genuine empathy. "Then why do you stay with him?"

"Because I like having someone to fall back on. Someone to talk about. Someone to be with. My life is too busy right now for a relationship anyway." Harry shrugs, because he's not sure what else to say. "But besides all of that, I'm basically the same. I'm only nineteen, Lou, there's not much for me to tell about my life. It hasn't even started yet."

Louis blinks twice, and then his hand slowly slides toward Harry's. Their fingers interlock gently, but Harry is too busy staring at Louis' face to pay them any attention. Louis' voice is gentle when he speaks. "Wish I could have been here for all of that."

Harry shrugs again, averting his gaze down to their hands. He shyly pulls his own away, watching the way Louis' fingers go limp at the absence of Harry's large palm to grasp. Louis' own hand retreats, snaking back under his chin as he forces a smile that doesn't quite meet his eys. "What about you, Louis? What's gone on with you?"

Louis takes a deep, dramatized breath. "Well. When I left here, like I said, I moved in with a friend. Not too far from here, actually, maybe about half an hour by car. I- I got arrested. Eight months, H. I was only nineteen and - and it was hard."

"Why did you get arrested?" Harry blurts, but Louis seems unfazed.

"Possession of illegal substances." Louis looks up at Harry through his lashes. "Don't think I need to explain that bit to you."

Harry has stiffened. "Yeah."  _Serves him right._

"And - this, this friend. He got arrested too, but, like. It was his first offense, so he got off on probation. I, um, I had gotten caught before, so. My penalty was worse. We both got fined. Had to use nearly all my savings to pay it off, it was the worst. He never even visited me during those months," Louis says quietly, "I was alone. And things were very different in that cell. It gave me a lot of time to think. Think about myself, think about home. My priorities. My feelings. You." Harry pales a bit. "You, and how I wish my last words to you hadn't been so harsh. 'Cause you're one of the only things I have that I've had since the beginning that hadn't been ruined or tampered with."

Louis continues with a sigh. "And my mum, when she found out, she told me to come back home. And I wouldn't. 'Cause I wanted to get high and stay that way, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do that if I came back here. So she told me to either come back then or never come back at all. And I listened."

"I stayed out there for another two years. Lost my job, was living off my roomate's small salary and even that was a struggle, because we could barely afford food. Weed isn't cheap," Louis laughs humorlessly, "and neither is electricity. Or houses. We had to move into a flat in a shitty neighborhood, but I made some new buddies there that would hook me up whenever I needed to blaze. And that helped with the money. A bit. But by then I tried to be openly gay and, well, I got a little roughed up for it. And it was okay, because none of those guys really cared what happened to me so there were no attachments holding me there when I left."

"I had no degree, no job, no money, no nothing. So I just started to sleep wherever I could. Food was not important, I could go without food. I'd steal water from washroom sinks at restaurants and steal clothes from donation bins whenever I could, but it only got me so far. I tried to go back home but... but I couldn't do it, couldn't go back to my mum and be the disappointment that slept in her basement. I knew I needed to pick myself back up before I even tried to mend what I had destroyed. But drugs are addicting, and withdrawals are a bitch. Two months ago I relapsed, only one time though, I promise, and I decided that enough was enough. I don't like the person I turn into on that stuff, Harry. I don't like how angry it makes me. I don't like how I lose control. I don't like how I said those things to you, even if I know they could have been worse, and I don't like how I drifted so far away from such an early age. There is so much I have to learn about you and your life that I've missed out on. There's so much that I wish I could have been involved in. You don't even know me. I don't even know you. All you know is the me from that past and that - that's not even me. That's a shell of a person." Louis licks his lips. "And I want you to get to know me. The real me."

Harry blinks in shock. "That - that was quite a story, there."

"I dragged myself through hell. I barely even graduated, hell, Harry. I missed out on so much."

"Why did you start those things in the first place, then?"

Louis sighs. "I -  I hung out with the wrong people. Did the wrong things. Had the wrong morals."

"That's what they all say," Harry replies, and he doesn't mean for it to sound nearly as cold as it does. He winces.

"But it's true. I never had anyone there to guide me."

"You could have had me." The truth burns Harry's tongue as he speaks it. "All you had to do was ask."

"I know."

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't know."

"If you want to fix this, it's going to take real time. And effort. And I don't even know if that will work."

"I know." Louis scoots his chair closer to Harry's. "But, hey. I know some stuff about you. Rocky Road ice cream and Candyland, remember? Goosebumps books and Rugrats marathons, superhero capes and red velvet cake every year on your birthday." Harry finds himself blushing. "With frosting, but the frosting had to be dyed purple because purple was the only color you liked. And you used to talk in your sleep. You liked to dance to country music because you said it made you feel like a cowboy and you believed in dragons until you were ten, but you believed in Santa until you were four. You thought lipstick and nail paint were pretty and you always wanted to try your mum's, but she never let you because she thought it was a phase - you climbed trees faster than me and you'd smile down from the top branch and call yourself a monkey. You braided your curls and you were afraid of swimming in the deep end. You drew smiley faces in your A's and hearts over your I's. You came to all my footie games and you even made up a little chant, my own little cheerleader." By now Louis is peering at Harry and he's so close that Harry almost can't breathe. "My own little Harry."

"I remember loads of stuff about you too," Harry whispers, but it's all he can manages to say because honestly, he's speechless. Who is this man with all the right things to say? How does he know exactly what makes Harry feel weak in the knees and what makes his heart beat faster? "Like. Like. You liked to play Peter Pan. You were Peter and Gems was Wendy and I was. I was a Lost Boy. We'd invite all the kids in the neighborhood over to play. Jimmy from next door was Captain Hook and Lydia from four houses down was Tinker Bell, because she had pretty blonde hair. We used glitter as pixie dust and we made forts out of tree branches and old blankets. And when you slept at my house you always had to bring your Spiderman pillow because you couldn't sleep without it."

"You liked to share it with me-"

"Because it smelled like you and it was softer than any of mine," Harry finishes for him.

"And we'd always eat-"

"Grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato."

"And orange slices." Louis' eyes sparkle.

"With grape juice."

"Sometimes we snuck some chocolates."

"And my mum threatened to never buy them again if we didn't stop," Harry giggles. 

Louis returns Harry's smile. "We built a tree-house in my yard."

"We used to play checkers in there all afternoon."

"I was always red." Louis could do this all day. honestly.

"And Lottie liked to come in with us and watch."

"Until she fell climbing up the latter and broke her arm," the pair says simultaneously, Harry breaking into a fit of giggles as Louis shakes his head. 

Harry looks at his folded hands, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips. Louis has gone quiet next to him, drumming his fingertips on the surface of the table almost silently. Harry takes this opportunity to sneak a peek at him, the way his fringe falls in his eyes and the muscles in his arm flex as he moves. Harry licks his lips as his gaze sweeps down the entirety of Louis' body, stopping at the tan skin of his ankles poking out from the fabric of one of Harry's old pairs of trackies. 

When he looks back up, he meets Louis' already staring eyes with a small intake of breath. Louis moves so beautifully toward Harry that he almost misses it, almost misses the way his breath smells like mint and the way his fingers are cold against Harry's skin as he fists the fabric of Harry's shirt collar. He almost misses the press of Louis' nose against his own when their lips brush together, mostly because his heart is slamming in his chest and his arms are stupidly at his sides and he doesn't know what to do, really, but Louis' kiss is soft and sweet and he has tingles everywhere when he pulls away. He can't breathe, is the thing, and like, the room is sort of spinning. All he can see is Louis and Louis' eyes that are illuminated with the light of a sunny fall afternoon and the gentle flush of color in his cheeks when his forehead knocks into Harry's. Green meets blue and they're just kind of staring now, but Harry doesn't ever want to move. Everything feels okay in that moment.

And then Louis ruins it.

"Sorry, I don't know why I just did that," he whispers, but Harry shushes him with a muted breath. 

"Friends?" Harry mutters, clenching his eyes shut and trying to kill the fireworks exploding behind his lids. 

"Friends," Louis agrees. 

And that's that.


	4. Part Four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tries to swim through how cliche and deep my metaphors are*

They aren't friends.

They're just. Okay, maybe they  _are_  friends. They're special friends. They're special friends who sometimes kiss. And hold hands. For moral support, of course, nothing more. 

Harry doesn't mind when Louis talks to someone else. He doesn't stare nonchalantly at Louis from his position behind the library desk, hands preoccupied with organizing books or fingertips dancing across the keyboard of the old, dusty computer.  He doesn't force Louis to eat, because it's not like Louis is even his to worry about. 

In fact, the only thing Harry accepts about the relationship between Louis and himself is that it's got to stop. And soon.

"You've read that eight times," he comments meekly on a Tuesday afternoon. The sky is an angry, unattractive dark color that makes Harry dread his decision to walk to work. "Aren't you tired of it?"

Louis peeks up at him from over the binding of his book. His feet are tucked beneath his thighs, elbows resting on his knees."No."

"Funny."

"How so?" Louis's tone isn't defensive or cold. Harry appreciates that in more ways than one. " _To Kill a Mockingbird,_ Harry. It's a classic. Timeless. Never gets old. You, of all people, should understand."

Harry scans another book, impassively as ever, and adverts his gaze strictly to the counter. "Oh, really? And why is that?"

"You work in a library. Don't you enjoy reading?" 

"Not everyone who works in a restaurant likes to cook," Harry replies, rather proudly, and bites down on his lower lip just to distract himself. Looking up at Louis would surely start nothing but a silent stare-off betewen the two of them, which would result in- well, Harry doesn't know. That's the thing. 

"That's irrelevant," Louis huffs, because really, is Harry even  _listening_? "Restaurants and libraries are two very different things that hire two very different kinds of people."

"If my mum wasn't in charge, I wouldn't work here." This is, in fact, a lie. Harry loves the library. He loves the smell of new books and old, wrinkling pages. He loves the sound of the paper rustling together with each flick of his fingers, the crinkle of the binding, and the low drone of the heater running in the backround. He admires the way people have taken it upon themselves to create tales so intricate and complex that he finds himself lost in a sea of words and analogies for hours and hours. But more than anything, he worships the excitement of a new discovery or a solved mystery thrumming in his veins, the heartbreak of losing a character that had become a friend; Harry lives for it. The library is his best friend. The library is his life. 

He breaks, just for a second, and he looks at Louis. He immediately wishes he hadn't. Louis, messy fringe, breath-taking eyes - beautiful, really, Harry often finds himself comparing them to the sky; he knows there's a sun hiding behind those blue-gray clouds, and he's very much willing to wait for it to reveal itself - and soft, pink lips. By God, if he isn't going to be the death of Harry, who knows what will be? 

Louis moves quietly, like a whisper, toward Harry with a look in his eyes that screams nothing but  _I know what you're doing,_ and  _you don't have to pretend to be someone you're not,_ gentle as a petal in the breeze. "You and I both know that's not true."

"I don't know nearly as much as I used to think I did, actually." Louis isn't one for subtly. The way he leans over the counter and blinks, long eyelashes as unfair as a sinner praying on their deathbed, tells Harry that he definitely isn't paying attention to the words they're saying anymore. "I used to be convinced that there was a solution to every problem. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that there's no way that could be true."

"Don't be a pessimist, it doesn't suit you."

"Does it suit anyone?"

"Well, I have a theory." Louis is close enough for Harry to smell his shampoo. It's technically Harry's shampoo, but Louis somehow makes it his own."Do you ever wonder if you're the only one who actually exists?"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "No. That's terribly egotistical."

"Not like that. Like... obviously other people exist. But, we're all very aware of our own thoughts. You can never access anyone else's, so, I just wonder sometimes. What if I'm the only one who can think? What if everyone else is a figment of my imagination, something my brain created to keep itself preoccupied?"

"No offense, Lou, but I don't think your brain is that advanced." Harry doesn't mean it. Louis is really something special, and Harry is almost sure that he isn't human. So when Louis wrinkles his nose like Harry's just seriously insulted him - which, okay, he sort of has - Harry finds it endearing. 

"That really makes me think about how unique we all are. How complex everything is. And that, Harry, is why I never get tired of reading the same book. Every time I read it again, I notice something new, something I hadn't before. Funny as it is to you, something that small and insignificant can change the entire story for me."

"And then you have to read it cover to cover again, don't you?"

"Exactly."

Harry blinks. "That was a very extravagant answer to a painfully simple question."

"I'm an extravagant person in a painfully simple world."

"But, you just said it was complex. Unique. You're contradicting yourself."  Harry is sure he's stumped him this time, put a stop to that never ending flow of smart comments that Louis always seems to have in constant supply. 

"That's because I'm  _human_." Louis sighs like Harry is the most ridiculous person ever for suggesting otherwise. "It's, like, a given."

"You say the most interesting things."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Reckon I could listen to you talk for the rest of my life and never get bored." Harry's cheeks heat like a skillet on a stovetop. One corner of Louis's thin lips have quirked up into a smirk. Harry is suddenly extremely fascinated by his shoelaces. 

"You're cute." Louis isn't smirking when Harry looks back up at him. "I have to go soon."

Harry doesn't frown. They've discussed it. They've discussed the fact that Louis can't stay here forever, as much as Harry might secretly wish for this to be the case, and they've discussed where Louis will go and what he'll do and who will help. He's thanked Harry at least a thousand and one times for providing a temporary home for Louis, but stresses that it is in fact temporary. Harry wants him to stay.

A lot. 

"Yeah," he breathes. "I know."

 He shuffles. "Like. I was thinking tomorrow, actually."

Harry blanches at this. "W-what? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Like, the day after today," Louis says, brushing a loose strand of his fringe from his eyes. He blinks up at Harry with innocence that Harry  _knows_  he doesn't actually have.

"Yes, I understand the word tomorrow - it's just, you haven't given me much of a warning."

"Well, it's not like it's going to inconvenience you in any way. You don't even have to drive me anywhere. Got a bud that's gonna come pick me up, drive me up to Manchester."

" _Manchester_?"

"Yep!"

"Manchester?" Harry asks again, just as incredulously as the first time.

"Yes... try to keep up," Louis huffs, and if Harry wasn't so confused he would most likely find a way to retaliate. "I've got... okay, I wanted this to be a surprise, but I've got an interview."

"An interview." Harry seems to have lost the ability to do anything except repeat the words that Louis says. 

"Yeah. Like, for a job."

"You've got a job interview. In Manchester."

" _Yes,_  Christ."

"But that's... not here."

"Well, it's not that far. Less than an hour if you don't hit traffic," Louis points out, drumming his fingers on Harry's desk. He seems to realize something as he furrows his brow, using his free hand to point at Harry accusingly, "Why does it bother you so much that I'm leaving? Doubt you want me living off your couch forever."

"I, uh, I don't." He wouldn't mind, actually. He pushes this thought to the back of his mind, though, because friends don't think like that about other friends. "I just. Don't want to see you go. All the way to Manchester."

Louis's face softens. "Oh. Hey, look at me."

Harry is embarrassed. He tries to scan a book, but he fumbles and drops the scanner. It bangs into the desk and he jumps back, swearing quietly and pushing his hair off his forehead with one hand. "Uhh."

"Harry."

"Yep?" Harry tries to remain nonchalant, but he's blushing and he can't seem to get a grip on himself. He grunts. "I'm looking at you, I'm looking at you."

He's almost afraid of the words that Louis is going to say.

"I'll still visit you. And you have other friends, mate, it'll be okay."  _Oh_.

"Yeah, but," Harry mutters, feeling pathetic, "they're not you."

"I am pretty bloody amazing," Louis teases, poking Harry in the stomach from across the desk. Harry does not laugh or giggle, he does  _not,_  nor does he smile at the floor like a fool. "And when I get a phone, I'll text you all the time, 'kay?"

Harry hums in agreement, squeezing one of Louis's small hands in his own. He really likes Louis and his hands and his eyes and his hair and his voice and-

"Quite a grip you've got there, pumpkin," Louis grunts, twisting his hand gently out of Harry's - apparently very harsh - hold. Harry drowns in a sea of fond at Louis's stupid, childish nickname for him - he wouldn't dare call Louis out on it, though.

"Sorry." He's smiling.

"Apology not accepted," Louis says, hopping up onto the desk - with minimum difficulty, besides the fact that he has to try two or three times because the desk is higher off the ground than he remembered - and turning to face Harry. His ankles find their way to the back of Harry's waist, lock around him, and tug him closer. His hands float up to rest on Harry's cheeks once Harry's settled in between Louis's legs, and, Harry doesn't think he'll ever get tired of this. "Now then. Kiss me, you fool."

"So demanding," Harry chastises like he doesn't love it and like he's not gone for this boy even though he knows it's wrong and weird and just too sudden, like he doesn't wish he'd never leave this moment, like he doesn't dream about blue, crinkly eyes. 

"Just do it," Louis huffs, ever the patient one. Harry briefly wonders why he doesn't irritate Louis more often, because his face turns a pretty pink color and his eyes narrow in the least threatening way possible. "God, you're so fuckin' slow, gotta do everything 'round here-"

"Careful, Lou, someone might hear yo-"

Even though the library doors are completely and frustratingly unlocked, Harry lets Louis kiss him until he's sure his face turns blue. Because, you know. It's Louis. And when Louis wants to kiss, you kiss. 

The only thing that stops them, really, is the awkward gasp that comes from behind Louis. Harry detaches himself only briefly to look sheepishly at the offended looking old woman, the culprit, who's clutching a stack of boring looking romance novels that she's shielding somewhat protectively. She huffs, covers her chest with her free hand, and turns away. 

"I think you just lost a customer," Louis whispers into his ear, and he's really such a shit. Harry laughs in spite of himself. 

"We don't have customers, Louis, this is a public library."

"Well, whatever she is. You just lost her."

"That's okay," Harry bites back a smile, "'cause I've got you right now, and I'd rather have that than all the customers in the world."

Louis snorts. "You're so  _dumb_."

Harry mimics the gasp of the old woman, and Louis smacks him on the shoulder. He doesn't really care. 

"Are we going to exchange valentines, now?" Louis mocks him, but Harry can see the happiness in his eyes. He doesn't think he'll ever stop looking at Louis's eyes, because Jesus  _fucking_  Christ. 

"No. Wrong month. Plus, you're disgusting. Why would I waste my money on a valentine for you?" Harry pokes his tongue out. 

"Because I'm the best friend in the entire world!" Louis crows like he's just won an award, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck and sliding forward so he's off the desk completely. Harry stumbles, shocked by the sudden addition of weight, and struggles to hoist Louis up. Louis cackles, and if Harry was so endeared he'd probably be annoyed, but. 

"Don't drop me," he warns once Harry's got a firm grip on his backside - Harry wonders if Louis planned that bit as well - with his lips against Harry's neck. Harry takes a moment to pray that no other people happen to stumble upon the two of them in this position. 

"Wouldn't," Harry wheezes, and Louis isn't even that heavy, but his closeness knocks the breath right out of Harry's lungs. "Would never."

"Carry me home tonight, then? Tired," Louis mutters, pretending to snore against his skin. What a dork Harry's got on his hands, honestly. He also knows that Louis is not at all tired, but he can't say no to Louis, doesn't think he'll ever be able to ever again. 

"Yeah, Lou. I'll carry you home."

"Thanks, best friend."

Harry smiles softly, though Louis can't see it. 

"Of course."


	5. Part Five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how to make fun of myself in this chapter so im just gonna sit back and watch you read it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ao3 is so different than wattpad and i feel like such a newbie when really i've been writing fanfic for over three years help ??

 "Got all your things? Toothbrush, jumper, socks-"

"Jesus, yes." 

"Are you sure?"

" _Yes_ , Harry. I'm sure. I have all of ten belongings anyway, so."

Harry shakes his head tenaciously, zipping up Louis's - well, it's actually Harry's (technicalities) - jacket and pulling his hat further down over his ears. "You need something to drink. You haven't had anything to drink since you woke up. Water or ju-"

"I'm fine. I'm sure we'll grab a bite when we get there. You baby me, honestly. I promise I've got it under control. It's just Manchester, we're not boating 'cross the Atlantic."

Harry bites his lip in response, giving a very coddled looking Louis a onceover before he stuffs his hands in his pockets in defeat. "Alright. I just. Want you to be okay."

Louis huffs irritably, pulling the hat from his head despite the appalled look Harry shoots at him, and drops it to the ground. He takes a step toward Harry and grabs his hand with his own, but the amount of secret gratefulness shines loud and clearly enough in his eyes. "I'm gonna be okay this time. No more nonsense."

"You promise?" Harry asks pathetically, childishly, even. He doesn't care, because Louis's expression never falters or changes with any sort of judgement or amusement. "Call me. Wanna hear all about your job, okay?"

"You're gonna get tired of me," Louis tries to laugh, but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Harry decides after a brief moment of hesitation to brush it off, because he knows that sadness is normal at a time like this. He can only pray it's because Louis doesn't want to leave almost as much as Harry wants him to stay. 

"Never. Talk my ear off, I have two for a reason." He flicks both his ears, and Louis's grin instantly widens. He doesn't mind being an idiot if he gets to make such a beautiful boy smile. 

A horn blares obnoxiously from outside three consecutive times, but it sort of feels like a countdown when Louis shuffles toward the door. "That's my cue."

"Wait," Harry crows, suddenly panicked. "You, uh."

"What?"

He gulps. "Can I. Can I have a hug?"

Louis softens, but his hand lingers on the doorknob like he's not sure. He looks away from Harry. "You're making this way too difficult."

"Please?"

"I'm... I have to go." And Harry won't cry, he won't cry. He won't cry. He won't cry. "Let's not draw it out, alright?"

"I'll just miss you."

Louis inhales deeply, tiredly. He has his back to Harry, but he swears he can see the way that Louis bites his lip like he does when he's trying to keep the words in his throat if he just looks  _really_  hard. "I'll miss you. It's been fun, really, but we both knew this wasn't a forever sort of arrangement."

"Please be safe," he says, because he's run out of ways to keep Louis in his grasp. "Ring me if you need anything. Don't forget about me."

"I won't forget about you, H. Could never."

The horn blares again. Harry wishes it would stop. 

"Promise me you won't forget about me."

"Harry."

"Louis, please." Harry feels desperate, kind of. It's a bit pathetic. 

Louis opens the door. The air feels like ice against Harry's bare arms, but he can't tell if it's from the temperature or his small taste of everything he's ever wanted walking away without so much as a protest from Harry himself. "You're being ridiculous. I'm not gonna forget about you, tosser." 

But when he starts to walk away, he winks at Harry over his shoulder. 

And then the door is closed and the car door shuts and he's far, far away - Harry watches the car go down the street. His cat darts out from under the couch and hops onto the windowsill, as if she too is sad to see Louis go. It breaks his heart. 

He drags the cat to his room. They watch movies together. It should feel normal, but it doesn't.

_________

It's been four days and Harry hasn't heard from Louis. 

He's too afraid of rejection to send the first message or make the first call, so he just waits. Not restlessly, no. He goes to class, he goes to work, and he even buys some new groceries because Louis had eaten all the sweets and consumed more tea in a week than Harry thought humanly possible. It's great, it is. Macy loves the solitude, but Harry thinks she's a recluse as is. He considers working on developing her social skills, but he knows when enough is enough; he goes clubbing with Niall.

Niall is terrible, honestly, because he gets much too drunk and Harry ends up driving he and a girl home, being the only sober one. He spends the rest of the evening bitterly sipping tea that doesn't taste nearly as good as it used to and trying to avoid writing sonnets about Louis's eyes. 

It has to stop. 

___________

The next morning, though, just as Harry's come up with plan Forget About Louis, his mobile buzzes in his back pocket.

_mornin pumpkin !!_

He knows he's royally, completely, definitively fucked.

**_hiii_ **

He stares so hard at the screen as he waits for a response that his vision starts to blur. 

_how did u sleep ? good i expect with the amount tht u snore_

Harry briefly wonders if he should even bother to ask what took Louis so long to reach out to him, but he decides not to risk turning Louis away. 

**_I do not snore. You are delusional, and you need to get your ears checked._ **

_u so do snore it's so loud tht i can hear it all the way here ;)_

**_What can I say? What would you like me to do about the fact that I involuntarily snore when I'm sleeping?_ **

_i miss ur snoring it always lulled me 2 sleep_

_like a lullaby_

_send me sum of ur snoring_

**_This is embarrassing._ **

_wht ?_

**_I'm friends with someone who texts like incoherent simpleton._ **

_don't use big fncy words its 2 early_

_this shitty mobile i hav has rlly small butts so its hrd 2 type_

_BUTTONS NOT BUTTS HAHAHAH_

_i just woke up ahhh the sun is so bright !!_

**_The sun does tend to be that way._ **

_ive had enough of ur cheek styles_

**_My cheeks have styles?_ **

_tht was terrible_

_i hate you_

_go to hell ! :P_

**_You can't tell me to go to hell and then immediately follow it up with a ':P', Louis._ **

_i can do what i want_

_miss u and ur kisses !_

**_How's the job?_ **

_hvent started yet_

_ill let u know_

_m i s s  u !!!!!!!!_

**_Okay, well, I have to get to class. Have a good day, Louis._ **

_...._

_ok_

_are u alright ?_

**_Dandy. Go make some friends, you twit._ **

_:*_

He flops back on his pillows. He decides he needs to take a sick day, because Louis gives him headaches. 

________

It's two days later when Harry opens his coat closet and his eyes fall to the ground. He closes his eyes tightly, and forces a heavy sigh through his nose. His hand is retrieving his mobile from his pocket before he knows what's happening, really.

**_How is it that you left one and only one shoe at my flat? What happened to the other one? And why is it in the coat closet of all places???_ **

It takes Louis a few minutes to respond, but when he does, it's worth it.

_left it there so u wouldnt 4get bout me ! also u made it all stinky with ur colon_

_........_

_cologne_

_happy ?_

**_Visit me soon. I don't want your shoe._ **

_but it smells like me !!_

**_I thought it smelled like my colon?_ **

_goodbye_

_ill be there next saturday at nine am sharp and i expect hot tea and scones waiting 4 me or ur gunna hear it !_

Harry doesn't respond simply because he's too busy hunting down the best goddamn scone serving bakery in the entire town.


	6. Part Six.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am i uploading these all at once?? im just gonna stall updating for another month when i get to the end of my completed chapters

The first time Harry lays eyes on Louis again, he swears he's seen God.

Louis's not any different on the surface. He hasn't grown or gotten facial reconstruction surgery (which would be a huge sin in itself), so Harry's not sure what about seeing Louis's face literally sends an invisible fist into his chest and knocks the breath clean out of him. He wonders if he's developing a nasty case of pneumonia.

"Hi," he says, like he's not fighting the urge to squeal, like he's not affected in the slightest by the way Louis beams up at him like a child on Christmas morning. Louis's eyes crinkle around the edges. Harry is not sure if this is a deliberate attempt to cause Harry to commit homicide or if Louis simply enjoys torturing him. It's very possible that his goal is a mixture of both.

He wonders briefly if he's being a bit melodramatic.

"Heya," Louis hums, shuffling awkwardly in front of Harry. "Uhm, are you going to let me come in, or am I to stand out here and freeze my arse off?"

"Reckon it'd be a crime if I let that happen," Harry tries to flirt - he thinks. He steps aside nonetheless, and Louis hobbles inside, shivering. Harry isn't cold. He wrinkles his nose, confused, until Louis starts going on from the kitchen about Harry not having anything good to eat.

"There's the annoying brat that I missed so much," Harry says smoothly. Louis shoots him a  _look,_ closes his fridge, and sits down at Harry's table. Harry's facial expression softens. "Hey, you can eat what you want. Help yourself. Or we can order takeout, if you're willing to stay for that long."

Louis shakes his head quickly. "No, thanks. I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless you have popsicles."

"Fresh out."

They rest into a prolonged period of silence, neither one looking at the other, until Louis clears his throat and mutters something about his shoes.  _Right._

"So," Harry starts, as pleasantly as he can, plopping Louis's missing shoe down in his lap as he slides into the seat across from Louis. He briefly considers sitting down directly next to him, but he isn't sure if he wants a repeat of the last time the pair of them sat next to each other at a table and had deep discussions - not that it had been a bad time. Harry isn't sure where the pair of them stand. He'd rather not ruin the moment. "The weather?"

"Is lovely," Louis supplies. He takes the shoe gratefully. Harry rolls his eyes. "At least in Manny."

"It rains  _every bloody day_."

"But I love the rain," the other boy insists, "I love watching it hit the windows. It's pretty. It cools things down. Sounds nice. Gives me an excuse to sit on my bum."

"No wonder you're always cold."

Louis blinks at him a few times. "Um, what?"

"You have nothing on you. You're like a bag of bones. No muscle, no... nothing." Harry doesn't mean it as an insult, he honestly doesn't. The look of offense on Louis's face is enough to have him spluttering and trying to make up for it, though. "Not that that's a bad thing."

"I'm stronger than you are, Styles," Louis sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry fights back a giggle at his expression. He resembles an angry kitten.

It's hard not to be fond.

Harry hasn't said anything, but Louis is apparently a mind reader. "Oh yeah? You wanna bet?"

"I didn't even-"

"Elbow on the table. There's only one way to settle this."

"Louis, this is ridiculous."

"You've had a go at my masculinity," he huffs, but he's smiling in spite of himself. "The laws of nature say that I have to at least  _try_ to defend myself."

"There are laws of nature? Like, actual ones? Why wasn't I informed?" Harry mutters, even though he's shifting, sitting up straight, and gripping Louis's smaller hand in his own. Louis flexes his fingers a few times before he returns Harry's grip with enthusiasm - probably to seem intimidating - with a devilish smirk on his face and everything.

"Ready?" Louis asks. "One, two-"

Suddenly, Harry's hand is slammed into the table with an unexpected and strangely large amount of force. His knuckles beat against the wood roughly, and his jaw falls into his lap. Louis cackles defiantly, like he's just won a war, and pulls his hand from Harry's.

"Tosser! You jumped the gun!"

"You never said I couldn't." Louis is too smug. Harry glares at him, nursing his redden knuckles against his chest.

"Fucking hell, Louis. That hurt," he whines like a child, masking all signs of amusement with a pout and maybe, if he focuses enough, a tear in his eye. Louis goes soft in what Harry considers a record time - two seconds, if that.

"Sorry, Hazza." He does look genuinely sorry, too, and even if Harry wasn't faking his distress, he thinks he'd fall out his chair with adoration. "Rematch?"

"As if."

Louis drums his fingers on the table a few times before he speaks again. "I really am sorry. You'd have beat me if I didn't do that."

"Not necessarily." Harry shifts in his seat, leaning toward Louis with the most sincerity that he thinks he can humanly possibly muster, "I'm pretty weak. Like, I'm a noodle."

"A noodle."

"Noodle," he confirms, but Louis doesn't smile or laugh or even scoff like Harry had been expecting him to. He looks quite the opposite, actually; anxious and saddened by the way Harry speaks. Harry doesn't like it, thinks people like Louis should be happy and smile all the time.

Louis shakes his head. "I guess I'll have to hit the gym more often, then. Y'know. So I can beat you."

"You're plenty strong, I bet."

"I'm not. If anything, I'm weak." The silence is heavy in the air, like a weight around Harry's neck. He can feel it pulling him down, down - away from Louis, away from their conversation, pushing him back into a crevice and locking the door behind him. The way Louis clears his throat not a moment later makes it feel even more powerful. "Um, anyway. How's your cat?"

Harry looks around, but the cat is nowhere to be seen. "Oh, you know. Catty."

Louis cocks an eyebrow.

"Catty is both an adjective and a jok-"

"A terrible joke, you mean. And yes, I know what catty means."

Harry glowers. "A joke either way."

He gets a forced smile and another head shake in response. Something is not right with Louis. Harry can sense it. He's just beginning to decide if he wants to press the issue or not when Louis breaches the subject on his own. "Do you not like me?"

"Wh-what?" Harry blanches. "Lou, 'course I like you."

Louis bites his lip. "How - how do you mean?"

"Um. I like you? I enjoy being your friend?" Louis's eyes widen, but then he blinks. The heavy silence is back, but only briefly, because Harry's brain tells him to fill the void with nonsensical babble. "Do you not like me? Am I weirding you out? I like you. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong id-"

"Harry, please stop talking so quickly."

"Right, sorry," Harry grunts, but Louis runs a hand through his fringe and he finds himself doing it again. "It's just that I really care about you and you've changed so much that I really want us to be on good terms again and I-"

" _Harry_."

He bites his lower lip hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Louis looks at him with his blue, blue eyes and, _Jesus fuck,_ Harry can't concentrate when he does this. "I like you. I just - uh, never mind. It's nothin', don't worry about it."

Except Louis looks upset now, shit, and Harry's scrambling to find a way to make it better. "Um, I. You."

"Me."

"You're amazing," Harry breathes,  _and I want to kiss you but I can't because I have a boyfriend and you moved away and you look so incredible from this angle,_ but it goes right over Louis's head. Louis is frustratingly dense, it seems, because the sheer magnificence of his existence is crystal clear to Harry, honestly.

It's Louis's turn to bite his lip. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not." And, fuck it, Harry is moving before his feet and his brain even come to the conclusion that this is an appropriate response. He sits next to Louis and grabs his hand. "I don't want to hear you put yourself down, okay?"

Louis is staring at their hands. "Alright."

"Look at me," Harry tries, but Louis won't, goddammit. "Louis, hey. Look at me."

It's only a flick of his gaze to interlock with Harry's, but it's something. "I like you a lot."

"I like you too, sweets," Harry reassures him as best he can, brushing the same fringe that Louis had irritably messed with previously behind his red-tipped - from the cold, Harry supposes - ear. "You're so lovely, you know that?"

Louis's lower lip trembles. "You can't just - say things like that, Christ, you have no idea what it does to me."

Harry doesn't speak. He knows how it feels. He thinks he's experienced it once or twice. He tells Louis as much. Louis doesn't respond at first, but he grabs the collar of Harry shirt and kisses him so fervently that Harry almost falls out of his chair.

Harry really should let Louis pull away, he should, but his hands and arms are no longer under his control and Louis is somehow closer to him than before; snogging in the kitchen on a breezy Saturday afternoon wasn't a part of what he expected to happen this weekend, but he'll survive.

When they're forehead to forehead and breathing like they've just single-handedly run a marathon each, the same protocol races through Harry's mind.  _Friends friends friends friends friends friends-_

"I'm sorry," Louis blurts, "I should. Um, I should go, that wasn't right-"

"No, please." Harry grabs Louis by the arm, and a little alarm goes off in the back of his mind. He ignores it. "Stay. At least 'til the morning, then I can send you off properly." This might just be the worst excuse Harry has used in the brief History of Bad Excuses. It doesn't matter. Louis promises to stay, reluctantly, and Harry feels like he's over the moon.

Maybe he is.

_Friends do that sort of thing for each other._


	7. Part Seven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song from this chapter here

It's October tenth.

Harry has not been the best boyfriend - this is not news. Thinking about it for too long makes him sick with guilt, but Ryan lives far enough away, right? Harry also knows trying to make excuses for kind-of-cheating on your boyfriend is a terrible thing to do, which is why he's here, of course. To come clean and talk it out. The date _does_  make things a little awkward, sure, but Harry doubts Ryan even remembers the significance behind it.

He takes a deep breath. He's over it. He's _over_ it.

There's a pretty welcome mat in front of the door. It looks fairly new, and Harry is surprised. Ryan has never been one for decorations, much less something as domestic as this. He knocks twice on the door. Nervously, he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at his shirt. He  _really_ should have called first - he appreciates surprises, so he can only hope Ryan will too.

He can hear heavy footsteps coming, getting louder as they approach, and Harry takes a deep breath.

When the door opens, Ryan is  _not_  the one standing there.

"Hi?" Harry blurts. He's never seen the bloke standing in front of him before in his entire life. He blinks a few times just to make sure he isn't hallucinating.

"Can I help you, mate?" The man is blond and green-eyed; definitely not his Ryan.

"Is, uhm... is Ryan here?"

The man's brow furrows. "Who's Ryan?"

Harry's jaw drops, dumbfounded and appalled. "How long have you lived here?"

"About a month... wait, did this Ryan guy live here before me or something? Because I do know the previous owner of this flat was an older woman, and she definitely was not named Ryan." Harry has to leave. He feels sick to his stomach.

"Uh, never mind. Sorry for... sorry for bothering you."

The man looks at Harry sympathetically. He supposes he's displaying the emotions he feels pretty blatantly, but he can't find it in himself to care. He turns away, glaring tearily at the pavement. He hears the door shut softly behind him. The door closing sets him into action almost instantaneously; he pulls his mobile from his pocket and dials a number. His wait is full of impatience and ringing on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Louis," he breathes, "Lou."

"What's wrong?"

"He's - gone. He's gone," Harry grunts. He won't cry, he won't cry, he won't cry. He hopes that if he repeats his own lies enough, he'll start to believe himself.

"Who?"

"Ryan," he sniffs. He wishes Louis wasn't so far away. He wants to hug him until one or both of them can't breathe. He hears rustling coming from Louis's end, which reminds him that he should probably be paying attention.

"What do you mean?" Louis asks, but Harry doesn't want to explain. He's angry and sad and guilty, but he's got a car and a GPS app and a Louis. Things could be worse. "Harry?"

"I'm coming to get you."

"I- you-"

"I'll be there in an hour if you give me your address."

"Where are you?"

"I have no idea." Harry rubs some tears from his eyes angrily, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "I can speed if I have to."

"I don't know... you seem upset."

"I  _am_  upset," Harry snaps, "that's why I'm coming to get you!"

"Okay," says Louis. "I'm going to hang up now, oka-"

"No!" Harry cries, startling even himself. He slides into the driver's seat shakily, closing the heavy door behind him. Rain begins to beat melodically on the windows; Harry thinks it reflects his mood flawlessly. "I mean... please don't."

"Alright." Harry can sense Louis's skepticism in the tone and words he's using. It's not a very Louis Thing to do, but he appreciates it when Louis offers him a quiet "I'll be waiting".

___________

It's October eleventh.

Louis is asleep on the couch. It's a Sunday morning, which means there's nothing decent on the telly, so Harry has chosen Louis Watching as his source of entertainment. It  _isn't_ creepy, alright? Louis is very beautiful, especially when he sleeps. His hair is tousled, expression soft, and he's curled into a tiny ball. The corner of Harry's mouth twitches up into a half-smile just from looking at him. The night before had been nice. With Ryan gone from his life, which Harry deemed as a safe assumption after several failed call attempt leaf him to believe Ryan had gotten a new number, he doesn't feel a pressing guilt when he admires Louis. He doesn't feel the overwhelming pain of heartbreak that he had been anticipating - he supposes he and Ryan had fallen out of love slowly, the distance eating away at their relationship, and there wasn't much left to miss. Which, of course, brings him back to the very thing that had sparked his spontaneous visit to Ryan and his mum's old house. Louis's nose twitches a bit in his sleep - Harry thinks he may be obsessed.

He gets up a few minutes later to fetch himself some tea, and he discovers when he returns that Louis has unfortunately woke up. Harry hands the mug over to Louis instead of keeping it for himself without even a moment's hesitation.

"Thanks, Hazza," Louis says in his soft, raspy morning voice. He holds the mug in his small hands carefully as he sits up. Harry sinks down into the green armchair across from him, eyes trained innocently toward the floor. Louis hums quietly, and Harry is lost in the way he sounds and the way things feel and the way his cat curls up on Louis's lap like she, too had missed him. She probably had. Harry can't blame her, though, because Louis is pretty amazing. He thinks would pick Louis over himself as well.

"How're we feeling?" Louis asks gently, sipping at his - well, Harry's, but Louis doesn't need to know that bit - tea. Harry raises his shoulders and lets them drop in a shrug. "C'mere, H. Can't see your face from all the way over there."

Harry makes his way over to the place on the sofa next to Louis in a very short amount of time. Louis looks a little startled at Harry's eagerness, but Harry settles next to Louis like he hasn't seen him in years. He misses having someone to keep him company.

Louis sets his tea down somewhere - Harry isn't sure where, he's too busy staring at Louis's blanket-covered legs - and covers Harry's hand with his own. They don't say anything. It's not awkward or tense, though; just the two of them sitting in silence, enjoying each other's presence, lost in their own thoughts.

 

There's something beautiful about it, really.

 

Louis's head comes to rest on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's head quickly follows his lead; his cheek pressed up against Louis's hair makes his face feel sort of itchy, but he can live with it. He can live with this.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," Louis says, so quietly and breathily that Harry almost misses it. They'd talked it over a lot the night before, and Harry is grateful to have Louis in his life. He has other friends as well, but he shares a special connection with Louis. He only wishes their relationship could have continued throughout more of their childhood. He imagines they'd be inseparable at this point if that had happened - not that he would mind that, really - and suddenly he's overwhelmed by how much he wants Louis to stay.

"'s alright. I guess some people just don't do breakups," Harry laughs, but it's soft and humorless and sounds awkward as it hangs in the air. Louis shifts, fringe tickling Harry's neck, and his grip on Harry's hand tightens. "Louis, I'm sorry I dragged you out of your flat."

"It's fine, mate." Harry bites his lip. _Mate._  "I'm glad you trust me enough to come to me when things aren't so great."

He can't help it, though, he blushes deeply and he swears he can feel it in his toes as he chokes out a "Yeah".

Louis begins to hum softly again. Harry doesn't recognize the tune, so he furrows his brow and concentrates heavily on the notes and rhythms. Almost as if by magic, Louis reads his mind. "It's a song. It's called... well, you probably haven't heard of it."

"Sing it to me."

He sits up, looking Harry in the eye. "No way."

"Please?"

Louis shakes his head again, cheeks tinted pink. It seems to Harry that one of them is always blushing around the other. He's not sure how he feels about that.

"Louis, please. I won't laugh," he mumbles, staring sadly at Louis's little hands. They're fidgeting, fingers tapping against his lap, and Harry feels the urge to hold them in his own again. There are, however, more urgent things to attend to. Getting Louis to sing is at the top of the list.

Louis sighs. "Don't look at me like that... fine, fine. Only a little."

"I'll hum what you were just humming... and you sing."

"Can you remember it?" Louis cocks an eyebrow. Harry nods, and he's being truthful. Louis has been humming it since his arrival. Louis looks at him a little shyly, takes Harry's hand in his own again, and Harry knows.

He knows he's in too deep.

Louis sings beautifully and though his voice is still a little rough from sleep and the obvious amount of insecurity in his tone, he sounds like an angel. Harry stops humming about three seconds in, too focused on listening to Louis, watching the way his lips move as they shape around each individual word - he wants to kiss him so badly that it's painful. He would kill to spend every morning like, curled up with Louis on a sofa with hushed exchanges and warm tea. It feels like something from a storybook.

As soon as Louis stops to take a breath, Harry can't take it - he leans forward and pecks Louis on the lips, once, twice, three times. Louis's hands come up to grab a few stray curls, and though Harry tries to keep each kiss chaste, Louis is irresistible and he feels like it's been an infinite amount of minutes when Louis pulls back slightly. Their noses bump together, Louis's breath warm on Harry's skin as he breathes heavily, so Harry opts for a kiss to the cheek instead.

"Harry," says Louis, "I... don't do anything you don't mean."

He bites his lip. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... ." The last thing he wants to do is make Louis uncomfortable. He goes to move away, but Louis's grip on his hair tightens. Louis's eyes flutter shut. "But don't you dare move away."

"We're not normal friends, are we?" Harry asks, and Louis blinks up at him slowly. His eyes are so, so beautiful. Harry doesn't think he'll ever get over it.

"No, we're not."

 


	8. Part Eight.

It's a cold, bitter afternoon.

Working at the library doesn't present many challenges on a regular basis, but on this particular day, Harry feels as if the world is moving in slow motion. Every second feels like a minute. Every person who enters spends a week in the aisles. Every book he adds to the pile that he  _knows_  he'll have to put away eventually feels like it sets time back by another percent.

It's because of Louis, of course.

It's because of Louis and it's because he loves him.

Harry realized when he woke up to a text at three in the morning ( _can't sleep wake up_ ) and, despite his utter exhaustion and annoyance, replied anyway. He realized when he started unknowingly surrounding himself with things that remind him of Louis - he's never been a huge popsicle fan himself, but they seem to be the only thing that can curb his unquenchable desire for sugar. He realized when he cried at the sound of Louis's voicemail, because he missed the sound of it and the way Louis felt tucked under his arm. He realized it as slowly as he fell; part of the experience is picking yourself up off the floor once you've hit the bottom. And it saddens him in the best way possible. He's in love and it should be scary, but it's not.

He closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the thoughts, and startles at the sound of someone else entering the library. He relaxes immediately, however, when he sees who it is. "Hey, Ni."

"Hiya, Harry." Niall's hands are tucked in his pockets, and he's drenched. "It's really comin' down."

"They have these neat things, see," Harry says, turning to search for his own coat to give to Niall. He assumes Niall will be walking back to wherever he came from, and he likes to think of himself as a proper gentleman, after all. "They're called umbrellas."

"Forgot mine at me house. Wasn't expecting the storm, to be honest." Niall accepts the coat gratefully, and Harry tries not to cringe at the way he uses it as a towel. He's somewhat grateful for Niall's appearance, though, because it's a distraction. Louis running laps around his brain would only be pleasant if he wasn't so far away and so... not-Harry's.

"Just make sure it's dry before you give it back, okay?" 

Niall looks at Harry like he's just grown another eye. "You're not coming with me?"

"Why would I be coming with you?"

"Don't tell me you forgot."

Harry looks at him, cocks his head, and furrows his brow. "Does it seem like I know what you're talking about?"

Niall throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Bloody hell, H! Every goddamn time!"

"Keep your voice down," Harry says almost immediately, like it's an involuntary reaction. An old woman glares at them from the corner - he briefly recognizes her as the woman who had walked in on his snog session with Louis; a bit of smugness boils in the pit of his stomach - and he gives a friendly smile in response. Niall, though, is the opposite of happy. Harry gives him a shrug, "I'm sorry, mate. I don't know. Just tell me where you're going."

"It's boy's night!" Niall pouts like an upset child- which, in a way, he is.  _Louis would laugh at that._

"Oh, right. Sorry about that." 

Niall rolls his eyes, and Harry wishes he would leave, actually. He'd much prefer the slow rush of his average work day. In fact, he believes he'd actually prefer class over this. He'd prefer anything over this. "Don't look at me like that, Ni. I'm busy. You know that."

"All work and no booze makes Harry a dull boy."

"That's not how it goes-"

"Can it, Styles, and get your keys. We're going," Niall informs him, and there's a certain firmness in his tone that almost makes Harry want to agree. Almost. 

"Look, Niall. I appreciate that you want to spend time together, I do; but I can't just leave in the middle of my shift. Especially not on a weekday. My mum is on holiday, and there'd be no one here to watch over the place."

Niall rolls his eyes again, and Harry glares at him. "Right, because this place is obviously packed."

The old woman huffs so loudly that even Harry can hear it. Niall turns to her. "Go about your business, lady."

" _Niall_ ," Harry scolds, mildly horrified. The woman, who seems extremely offended, places a hand over her chest. 

"I'm certain I  _mustn't_ have heard you correctly," she hisses. Harry takes a moment to pray, and considers offering up his cheeks as a grill. He also takes a moment to wonder if  _every single drop_  of blood in his body has rushed to his face.

"Ma'am, I am so sor-" he begins.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you didn't hear me at all, you ol' bat." 

Harry covers his face with his hands. He feels like melting into a puddle would be a more convenient way to face this situation. "Oh my God."

"So. Ye comin', or what?" Niall says conversationally, and Harry turns away from him. "Alright, suit yourself. You've been acting weird lately, Harry. Is it that bloke again?"

More heat rushes north, which seems impossible to Harry, and he whirls back around. "He's not a bloke. His name is Louis and- no, it's not him. Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Dandy. Peachy. I'm absolutely, positively, completely normal. I can't, however, go drink myself silly with you right now. So I'd really appreciate it if you could just, like, check out a book. Or go. I love you and all, mate, but-"

"Alright, alright!" Niall interjects, "I get it. Stop your babblin'. I'll be on my way. And I'm keeping the jacket."

Harry groans, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Alright, fine. Bye."

"Later!" he crows, kissing Harry's cheek loudly, and then he's gone. Harry lets out a sigh of relief, and realizes that the old woman has left as well.   
The library is empty, and he couldn't be happier. 

_________________

"Do you want some?" 

Macy stares back, unimpressed, and Harry sighs. "It's kale. It's good for you!" She stands, jumps from the couch, and makes her way into the kitchen. She disappears under the table. "Or not."

Chewing on his lower lip, he begins to wonder why he hadn't agreed to go with Niall in the first place. A part of him enjoys sitting on the sofa, watching cooking shows and eating by himself, but a large part of him enjoys seeing his friends and being surrounded by a happy environment. 

His mobile rests on the cushion next to him, and he seriously debates calling Louis for a few seconds. He discourages himself as he remembers that Louis said not to ring him after six, because he works a night shift now and  _answering personal calls on the job is unprofessional, Harry, and I need this job._

So, he shrinks into the corner and stuffs his mouth full again, watching boredly as someone sets a steak on fire on the telly. _I could do that_. He wonders if Louis would be impressed if he lit a steak on fire. He bites his lip again, and his eyes are inevitably drawn to the phone again. It takes every ounce of self control to get up and walk away, but he decides going for a run is the only way to keep himself from defying what he knows is right. Pissing Louis off by deliberately ignoring his requests is the last thing Harry wants to do.

But, he supposes, when life hands you lemons, you go running until you have no choice but to accept them.

After changing into an outfit more appropriate than a stained muscle shirt and briefs, he opens the door and makes his way outside - and immediately regrets it. Somehow, in the short amount of time that he was inside, he managed to forget how cold it is outside. It's too late to go back in, he thinks, and soon he's running and he can't feel his arms. Which, okay, isn't really helping. 

He makes it to the bakery about five minutes from his flat before he wonders what the hell he's doing. It's cold enough to freeze an ice cube a second time, and he's running to clear his mind when all he's doing is allowing his brain an uninterrupted slot of time to think about Louis. He ceases his movements, shivering, and looks longingly at the sweets in the display case. Unfortunately for Harry, carrying around money in his shoes is not a habit he's taken up yet. So, he gets as close as he can and stares. 

It feels like his relationship with Louis, actually. The sweets are so appealing and Harry knows of the bliss that indulging in them brings; he can see them perfectly, can almost touch them if he focuses hard enough. He can picture how they feel, but everytime he reaches out to grab one, his hand is stopped by a thick layer of glass. 

Everytime he reaches out to Louis, he's stopped by miles of distance. And silence.

But he clings to what he knows, clings to the memories; he clenches one of his cold, shaky hands into a fist and rests it on the glass. He's crying at a bakery in the cold, goddammit, and knows he has no business even going inside because he  _knows_  he's not going to be able to get what he came for. 

The run home is anything but relaxing. His chest feels like it's on fire, and it's not from the exercise or the cold or the heavy breaths. He misses Louis and he's _in love_ with him, and he can't keep running from it. He knows. He knows he needs to tell him, and he prays the feelings are reciprocated. 

He prays that it'll all be better once he has Louis.

____________

Harry waits until the next morning. 

It's Saturday, so he knows Louis should be home. He's tired of living in a slump. Even Macy seems to notice the fact that he's radiating desperation, and she steers clear of him every time he enters a room. Even the cat, he thinks with a scowl, and kicks her food bowl across the kitchen. (He picks it up, of course, and profusely apologizes to her when she stares up at him with layers of confusion). 

He's got the nail of his thumb taken between his teeth as the phone rings on the other end. Louis usually takes a while to pick up, so he tries not to let the beats of waiting cause anymore anxiety or worry. 

"Hey, Haz," Louis answers breezily, and every ounce of frustration in Harry's body seeps out of him like sand. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding at the sound of Louis's voice, and even feels a little pathetic as a small smile finds its way onto his face. 

"Hi," he mumbles. "I missed you."

Louis doesn't respond for a few moments. "Oh."

"Yeah," Harry coughs, and tries to push the hurt he feels back down. Louis is probably tired, is all. He's woken him up. That has to be it. He's just out of it. "So, what's up?"

"Uhm. Nothing, really."

There's more silence.

"Can I, uh. Do you need something, or?" Louis sounds a little uncomfortable. Harry's heart immediately starts to beat faster, as hard as he tries to slow it down by will. 

He chuckles, but it comes out flatly and tightly. "No. Just wanted to catch up a bit."

Louis takes a brief pause between every response, Harry notices, and that worries him almost as much as the staleness in his tone and the lack of emotion in his words. "Oh."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just. Didn't expect you to call."

"Have I woken you?"

"No."

Harry blanks. "Then..."

"Listen. There's something you should, like. Know."

"Okay?"

"It's nothing that serious, relax. Stop biting your lip," Louis tuts, and Harry wonders if he can actually read his mind. His lower lip feels a bit tingly from all the worry, and he forces himself to bite his tongue instead. "So, like."

"Like?"

"I... well, I slept with someone last night." 

His heart immediately stops racing. In fact, he thinks it may have stopped entirely and fallen into his stomach. "You- you what?"

"Yeah. It's this bloke from work- we just. Yeah." Louis doesn't sound upset or worried, is the thing - he says it like he's telling a friend. 

And then Harry realizes. He  _is_  telling a friend.

"I- I-" he stutters, and his throat is tightening up. He can feel the tears in his eyes, and he clenches them shut to keep from letting them slip free.  _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry_  - he chants it in his head like a mantra, because a part of him believes that it will work.

"Are you alright?" Louis asks, voice softening, and Harry can't help it. A tear slides down his cheek, hot and fast, and he bites his lip so hard that a few more tears slip free from the pain. "Hazza?"

He doesn't respond. He drops the phone, clamps a shaky hand over his mouth, and forces himself to take a deep breath. In, out, in, out - he can still hear Louis calling his name with more urgency for each second Harry remains silent. It feels like a dream. A nightmare. Like every bad thing Harry's ever experienced baked into one piece and then shoved down his throat; his breath hitches and he feels like he's on fire. 

The phone is back in his hand and he holds it to his ear, trying to keep his voice from trembling as much as the rest of him is. "I'm."

"Harry," Louis breathes, "I - why are you being all weird?"

"How could you?" It's all he can think of, and he regrets how stupid and broken it sounds out loud, but he doesn't think he can muster up anything else. 

"How could I? What the hell do you mean?"

"What about us?" Harry retaliates, allows more heat in his tone, because anger and sadness go hand in hand and he feels like he's been hit by a meteor. He regrets letting Louis in as much as he regrets pushing him away in this very moment, and he doesn't want to stick around to hear an explanation but he needs to hear Louis's voice just as badly. He squeezes his eyes tight again and tries to sort out his thoughts.

"What do you mean? There is no us-"

"You kiss me. You hold my hand and you give me hugs and make me laugh at two in the morning. You tell me things that make me feel like there's no one but the two of us and you- you don't even take it back. You insinuate it. You do it on purpose, Christ, Lou. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. Don't act like there's nothing there."

"If it's so bloody important to you, what we have, then why didn't you ever say it?" Louis seems to explode on the other end. "Why didn't you ever commit? Why did it take you so long to say it?"

"Because I had a boyfriend."

"Fuck that. Fuck you. We both know your relationship ended the second that asshole moved out." 

"Stop it," Harry pleads, because he hates when Louis yells. 

"I'm not yours, Harry. I'm not yours."

He chokes on a sob that rips its way from his chest. "I know."

"You... say it. You say it too. You say 'friends', and I. I just. I need more than that, Harry."

"I know."

"So don't you fucking dare get mad at me for this, okay? Don't you dare. It's over and it's done and I... I'm not yours. And this guy really likes me, and I'm going to give it a shot. Okay?"

He can't respond. His lips are frozen, eyes glassy, and Louis continues on in place of his answer. "Yes. This is how it is."

Harry takes a shaky breath to steady himself, tries to focus, tries to keep his voice down when he speaks. "We're not friends. We've never been friends. Friends don't... do the things we do. Friends don't kiss. Friends don't wake up in each other's arms. Friends don't call each other just to hear the other's voice. Friends don't treat each other the way you and I do. You know that. You knew that just as well as I did, and I didn't think I had to say it to make it true."

"Well, I've tried. I've tried to get it across to you and you never said it and you never tried to make it anymore. I don't fit in your life, anyway. You've got it all together, and I'm not a part of that anymore. I live somewhere else and I've got a job and a new place, now. There's a point where what we're doing has to stop. There's a point where it either has to go further or not happen at all. So I've made my choice."

Harry wants to argue, to protest, but he knows a relationship requires two people. And in that moment, he feels so utterly small and unimportant and light. He feels as if his life has all lead up to this moment in time, that everything he's ever done and said has somehow resulted in something that lead him here. He hates the world and he hates the way the thoughts sit in his head. He hates whoever Louis slept with, he hates whoever made him smile and whoever kissed his lips and looked into those eyes. 

_Those beautiful, deep blue eyes._

"But I love you," he stammers, and it's so quiet and weak that he's not sure Louis even caught it. The way Louis's heavy breathing stops indicates that he has, however. 

He clears his throat, and Harry briefly wonders if he's crying too. "We're just friends, Harry. We're friends."

He hangs up, and Harry drops the phone again. It falls into his lap and then slides to the floor, startling his cat, but he doesn't care. He brings his knees to his chest and tries to let the tears drop, but they feel like they're stuck. 

 _Friends. Friends. Friends. We're just friends._ His head hits the back of his sofa. He's never felt heartbreak until this moment, he realizes, and he feels it more vividly than he's ever felt anything else. It hurts more than the time he broke his leg falling from a latter. It hurts more than the time he got stung by a bee on the bottom of his foot. It hurts more than the time he woke up to scratches on his arm from accidentally rolling on top of Macy in his sleep - the pain is on the inside. He swears he can physically feel his heart aching with the loss, his brain weeping with the words drilled into it; his throat burns and. 

He realizes it then, too. He realizes it hurts so bad because he's in love. It hurts so bad because it was so sudden and hard and he wasn't  _ready_  or prepared to lose Louis. Or what they had. And he knows the words were so quickly exchanged, knows they're going to have to talk about it again, but it feels ruined.

 It feels like the glass wall has been shattered, and if Harry tries to reach, he's going to get cut trying to grab on.

With his eyes clenched tight, he tries to say it out loud. _We're just friends._

But he can't, is the thing. He can't, because he knows it isn't true.


	9. Part Nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi if you haven't smiled yet today please do so now (:

"I've never seen you like this."

Harry feels dead on the inside. All of the noise and chatter around him only motivates him further into his sulking. Why should everyone else get to be happy when Harry feels so drained? His head is resting atop his arms on the table, forehead to forearm, and he's counting his breaths for something to do. Niall is sat across from him with his girlfriend, the pair practically on top of each other in the small booth, and Harry would very much like it if they'd both leave. But ignoring Niall is only something he can do for so long, because they're best mates and he values their friendship too much to ruin it over a - hopefully - short-lived spell of heartbreak. 

"I think I'm dying," he says in response, after a disproportionate amount of silence has passed, and shifts so that his chin rests on his arms instead. He blinks for a moment, brightness be damned, and squints at Niall. They're in a restaurant not too far from his flat building, because after a broken sob-fest on Niall's cough, the latter had decided that Harry could use a "pick-me-up." So, much to his dismay, he's been dragged here. Surrounded by people. With Niall's girlfriend. 

It's not all bad, he supposes. He may be gay, but he does admit that Niall's girlfriend is pretty. Harry, for the life of him, can not remember her name, is the thing. Maybe Cass? She's rather petite, and she has blue eyes, short brown hair and a tattoo on her arm. It's almost as if she's taunting him. He fights the urge to glare at her, because she looks slightly uncomfortable already. Which, admittedly, Harry can't blame her for. He's acting like a moody teenager and they barely even know each other. But, because of the overwhelming resemblance, he has to keep his eyes off of her. Even when she talks. "Do you want some of our nachos?"

Harry hesitates. One time, he and Louis made nachos together and watched movies until two in the morning. Harry thinks they may have been the best nachos he ever tasted. "No, thanks." 

"It's not like you two were even dating," Niall says, sounding a bit annoyed, and it takes every ounce of self-control in Harry's body not to get up and walk away. He narrows his eyes. 

"Does it really matter, Niall?"

"Well, I'm just sayin'-" he begins, and Maybe Cass tries to shush him by offering up a nacho, which Niall ignores, "I'm just sayin' that you weren't even together. You're actin' like you've just gone through a war zone, or somethin'."

"I loved- no, fuck. I love him, Niall," Harry hisses, fists clenching until his nails start to dig into the meat of his palm and he forces himself to stop lest he bleed. "I would suggest shutting up, because you've no room to talk."

"Easy, mate, I was just sayin'."

"Well, I'm  _just sayin'_  that I don't appreciate it, thanks."

"These are really delicious," Maybe Cass laughs, desperately shoving the nachos toward Niall. "Look, Ni. You should eat some more."

"If you  _love_ him  _so much_ , why did you wait so goddamned long to tell him? This is partially your fault, y'know, because you're too much of a puss-"

"Fuck you," his mouth says, but his brain knows that Niall is mostly correct. If he hadn't waited so long to try to talk to Louis about how he felt-  _feels_ , he probably would not be in this situation. But he can't blame himself too much, because they always kept it at friends. They always agreed on friends, and the thought of pushing Louis too far past his comfort zone and losing him scared Harry into silence. 

But they were never friends, he knows. They haven't been friends since the first day. Not  _really_ friends, at least, not since Harry was small and wondered why Louis looked so pretty in the sunlight and why he made his stomach feel funny when he grabbed his hand. At Louis's return he should have kicked him out, he knows, should have left him to figure it out for himself, because that's what Louis  _deserved_  after everything. He shouldn't have opened up and let him in again. Louis has such a horrid, recurring habit of hurting Harry, but Harry still opens the door - both literally and metaphorically - because they've  _never been friends._

"Maybe we shouldn't discuss this here," Maybe Cass mutters, looking defeated, and Niall opens his mouth to retaliate but the waitress arrives at their booth and it effectively shuts them up.

Niall orders a burger bigger than his face and Maybe Cass opts for a salad. Harry orders a chocolate milkshake, which inspires Niall to as well, and he tries not to cry too hard when the waitress asks Niall if he'd like one straw or two. 

All in all, it's a horrible time and Harry goes home feeling worse than before. 

__________

He goes home and it hurts so bad to walk through the front door for some reason that he can't fully understand. As he trudges to his bedroom, he stops in the hallway because he remembers, he  _remembers_  something now - Louis left his jumper here last time he visited. He remembers by a stroke of luck,he thinks, and digs it from his closet, because it's so soft and small and smells like Louis. Macy curls up on it when he throws it on his bed to strip off his sweaty shirt he'd been wearing before, which makes him tear up all over again. "I miss him too."

It should be creepy and maybe a bit sad, but it's not, somehow. Somehow it works. He puts it on just because he can, and he instantly feels warmer on the inside and out. 

He couldn't eat at the restaurant for several reasons, so now he's got to cook. Which is a huge waste of money, he knows, but his stomach growls like it's personally annoyed that his mood is fluctuating so much so he decides that a grilled cheese seems like a good medium. 

After a few minutes of telly watching, just to calm him down, he begins his search for bread. His small kitchen is quite messy, which he also blames on Louis, and he's been living off of takeout since their phone call, so. He finds the bread and some butter and one pathetic slice of cheese. As it cooks, he watches it meekly. The free time allows his mind to drift once again as Macy sitting at his feet expectantly.

He has to bite his lip when he thinks of it again, because nothing's ever hurt this bad before. He's never had his heart broken like this before. Even when Ryan decided to fall off the face of the Earth, he thinks, because he'd long since fallen out of love with him. But Louis is not Ryan.

Louis is... Louis. He's everything Harry wants and needs all in one person. He's done some shit, he knows, but he always comes  _back_. He's been a part of his life since the very beginning, almost, and he would feel like family in a way if the circumstances were different. He's loud and cheeky and keeps Harry on his toes. He's got a lovely sense of humor but always manages to not overstep and offend Harry, always manages to perk him back up if he ever starts to feel down. He's beautiful and precious but also independent and free; he doesn't need Harry, but he doesn't need  _anybody_. Harry remembers when he first found Louis and insisted that he himself was fine on his own, which is and was a lie, and remembers Louis's response even more clearly;  _"Everyone needs somebody."_

He thinks Louis may have weaseled his way into his heart without him even realizing it. He thinks Louis may have become his somebody.

He doesn't realize the sandwich is burning until a tear drips from his face onto his hand, which startles him, and he begins swearing profusely at the smoke. 

It's completely blackened on one side and he's out of cheese, so he tosses it in the bin and takes a moment to sit down at his table and just. Think. 

They haven't spoken since everything went to shit, and Harry doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. On one hand, he'd really like some proper closure, and realistically he knows that's what he needs if he's ever to get over Louis. On the other, however, he's perfectly happy living without ever hearing Louis tell him he doesn't want him ever again. Frustrated, his pounds his fist on the table and listen to it rattle for a second. His fingers knot in his hair and he gives a small tug, because he's angry and hurt. It hurts so  _much_.

It's so unfair that Louis gets to be okay and be with someone else when Harry feels like he's just had everything important in his life stolen from him, which is not actually true, he knows. It's not fair that Louis gets to wake up every morning with a smile on his face when Harry can't even  _sleep_. It's not fair that Louis gets to hold someone's hand and get kissed on the cheek and be happy. It's not fair that Louis gets to walk away without so much as a glance back. It's not fair that Louis gets to crush his heart until it feels like there's nothing left while his own remains perfectly in tact. It's not fair that Louis has someone to tell him everything he wants and needs to hear when Harry is  _completely alone._

_It's not fair._

Knowing this, of course, changes nothing. At the end of his bitter soliloquy, he's still sad and he's still empty. Louis still isn't there and he still isn't Harry's. The sandwich is still burnt and his cat is still waiting to be fed. He still has work tomorrow and classes in the morning.

"Damn you, Louis Tomlinson," he says, just to himself. 

He may have it good and have a flat and life of his own, but he still let Louis in.

_________

He falls asleep during class the next day because he's completely and utterly exhausted. No one really seems to notice, luckily, but he's mortified anyway. Work is slow and quiet, as usual, and his mum doesn't even try to talk to him about it. They've gotten into too many almost-fights because every time someone mentions Louis, he gets defensive and resentful and he just can't help it. He can't help it that he hates and loves Louis at the same time.

Since he's been slumping and ignoring a good part of his responsibilities for the past week, he's inspired his mother to bring someone new onto their team. They've always had other employees, but they worked different shifts and Harry rarely saw them. Now there's a new girl who organizes books and puts them on shelves. She's cute and has a soft voice, much like Louis's, but she's much too interested in Harry for his own comfort. She says her name is Katherine and that she's new to the area, asks Harry to give her a tour - which he denies as politely as he can - and even invites him to her housewarming party. 

He's going, of course, because his mum shoots him a heavy glare when he tries to get out of it. 

Katherine is nice and has pretty blonde hair, but she's a girl. And she's not Louis. She doesn't make his heart beat faster when she looks at him. She doesn't make him laugh so hard that his sides hurt. 

The party is on a Friday night and it's in Katherine's flat building, so Harry takes the lift up to her floor and just assumes the door with the balloon tied to the handle is the correct one. He knocks twice in succession, tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously, and a redhead whips open the door almost too eagerly. 

"You must be Harry!" she squeals, red plastic cup in one hand, "I've heard so much about you!"

"Um... really?" Katherine's been working at the library for no more than a few days. Harry sort of majorly wants to turn around and leave now, actually. 

"Yes, totally," Redhead says, smirking, and opens the door wider so that Harry can walk in. He shuffles into the flat reluctantly, ignoring the way the girl brushes against his side as she closes the door, and takes in his surroundings. 

It's small, very small, but still decent. The walls are a lovely shade of red and the floors hardwood,  _nice_. There's a very light smattering of furniture throughout the place, which seems to have no walls or doors except for one on the far left that Harry can only assume leads to Katherine's bedroom. There's about fifteen people here, he estimates, and most of them are standing around and chatting. It only takes a few seconds to find Katherine, who's leaning up against a counter and waving her hands around as she talks to a guy with nice cheekbones. Harry blanches a bit. 

"So, Kat is busy right now, but make yourself at home. I can introduce you to some people if you want," the girl offers, batting her eyelashes boldly.

"Erm. No thanks..." he blanks, because he doesn't know her name and she's coming on much too strong. 

"Isabelle. You can call me anytime, though," she says, and walks away before Harry even gets a chance to scoff at her. She sways her hips a bit as she walks, and he pretends not to notice when she glances over her shoulder to see if he's watching.

Feeling incredibly awkward, he pats his thighs idly. Most of the people who have shown up at this point are female, and they're all holding red plastic cups. He hopes the drinks are alcoholic. He could use one.

Just as he's thinking this, Katherine notices him and comes bounding over. He isn't sure if he's relieved or even more annoyed. "Harry!"

"Hi," he says, backing up a bit when she stands in front of him. "Nice place."

"Thank you. It's hard to find somewhere nice when you're on such a tight budget. I imagine you're getting paid more than I do since you basically run the place - with your mum, of course. When I first got hired I was super nervous because I didn't even have to interview or anything, like. I just got the job and then I had to start the next day. Your mum is honestly so nice and so pretty, it's crazy, and your sister is too. She showed me pictures," she rambles, and Harry zoned out after 'thank you'. That is, of course, until she grabs him by the hand and proceeds to drag him unceremoniously to the kitchen area. "You look like you could use a drink."

He doesn't protest because suddenly there's a cup full of beer in his hands and  _yes_. He can live with this.

Five drinks later - or maybe six or seven or ten, who knows? - he finds himself in a corner with Isabelle and he's not sure when they started making out but her tongue is practically down his throat. It's all wrong and he  _hates_  it, but she's pulling so hard on his curls that he can almost forget that it's not Louis. 

Everyone clears out eventually and Isabelle apparently lives just down the hall. As soon as they stumble into her flat, she gets Harry in her bed, but he doesn't get off on it. He can't. They only go at it until she's satisfied because it's not _right_  and it's not Louis. Isabelle isn't sober at all, but she tells Harry that his stamina is impressive and gives him a big smile that makes him feel sick on the inside. Her red hair against the white pillowcases just remind him even more that she's Isabelle.  _It's not right_  and it's  _not_  Louis. He's  _gay_ , he's spent the entire evening thoroughly disgusted by the sex, and it's not even worth it because it's still not Louis. Thinking of Louis is the only reason he was able to get hard to begin with.

He knows he's going to regret it in the morning as he disposes of the condom that he didn't even come in, for Christ's sake, but it's too late and Isabelle is already falling asleep. 

So, he does as well. It's on her pillow in her bed and her bed with her trying to snuggle into him, so it shouldn't happen, but it does. He's exhausted and it is nice to have another person want him again.

________

When Harry wakes up, his head feels like it's been smacked with a hammer multiple times. 

He groans, feeling blindly at the sheet beneath him and trying to figure out where the hell he is. He briefly remembers the night before, mostly in snippets, and then his hand hits bare skin and  _oh shit_.

He sits up quickly enough to make his head swim. There's some light streaming through the windows as he practically falls from the bed in his haste to get up. Isabelle is still sound asleep, and Harry has to look away because the blankets are pooled around her hips and she's still completely naked. A quick glance to the alarm clock next to her table confirms that it's seven in the morning. He makes quick work of finding his clothing, is grateful that his keys and wallet haven't fallen from his jean pockets, and tries to slip out of the flat as quietly as possible. He's in too much of a panic to even leave a note, something he feels guilty for as he's driving out of the parking lot of the complex, but he can't go back.

As soon as he's back home and sat on his sofa, the anger begins. What is  _wrong_  with him? How could he allow himself to stoop low enough and rebound, especially with a random girl, and walk out without explaining himself? All of the anger and frustration is directed at himself now, which provides a five minute period where he doesn't think about Louis once, but it's short lived. 

When he's getting his cereal and a combination of bran flakes and Cheerios and Special K falls from the box, he curses himself. Louis always mixes the cereal because he insists that it tastes better. 

He can't eat it, of course, so he feeds it to his thoroughly pissed off and hungry cat and goes back to bed with dried tears on his face. 

_________

It's been about two weeks and tension is heavy at work because Harry ran out on Katherine's friend, and he knows she knows. She glares at him from a distance and rarely says a word, which surprisingly is nice for him. It's better than her being flirty and obvious, at least, because if she thought he was interested before, she certainly isn't at this point. 

He knows he needs to call Louis because they need to talk about it.

It's really hard to dial his number so he just doesn't. He can't stand to wait for it to ring or for it to go to voicemail. So he does something a lot more reckless.

He waits until the weekend and drives to where Louis lives.

It's stupid and crazy and Louis is probably going to kill him if he doesn't get jumped first - Louis doesn't exactly live in the nicest part of town - but he does it anyway. He's not sure if it's because he knows Louis can't ignore him if he's literally at his front door or if he just really wants to see Louis. He supposes the latter is probably the more true and sincere option, but he ignores that. They're just going to talk, that's all.

There's not a car in the driveway when Harry pulls in, so he supposes Louis's flatmate isn't home, but the lights are on inside. This is promising enough for Harry to drag himself out of his car and make it to the door without collapsing or turning and bolting. It takes another two minutes to even get up the nerve to knock on the door, and once he does, he instantly regrets him. What is he doing?

"Coming!" he hears from inside, and he begins to panic a little bit more. That was definitely Louis's voice. He's going to do it. He's going to see Louis and they're going to talk. He's going to see Louis. 

The door opens and the polite smile on Louis's face instantly falls off. 

They stare at each other for a few moments before Harry casts his glance downwards, opting to stare at his feet instead, and Louis clears his throat. "Um. Hi."

"I realize this isn't the best way to do this," Harry begins, feeling increasingly stupid, "but I. I couldn't be ignored and we need to talk, Louis. We can't just end it like that."

He's still staring at his feet, but he knows Louis is thinking about it. The door opens a little more and squeaks a bit, and he hears Louis sighing. "I... why don't you come in?"

Louis's place is a lot cleaner than he had originally anticipated. The telly is on and the volume is fairly low, a mug of what he assumes to be tea sitting on the table, and a fireplace crackles with life on the other end of the room. The furniture is large and light in color, which Harry thinks is a terrible idea for Louis, who is incredibly messy when he eats. A small, fat dog is sitting on the armchair and staring at Harry boredly. "That's Max. He's my flatmate's dog."

Harry nods to show that he's actually listening, and toes his slightly muddy shoes off by the door. Louis's feet are bare, of course, and Harry watches as he pads over and removes the dog from the chair. He looks at Harry expectantly. "You can have a seat on the sofa."

"Right," he grunts, following Louis's request. He sits, and takes a moment to watch Louis as he settles into his own place. His hair is still messy from sleep, Harry assumes, and his fringe is falling in his face in the way that Harry loves so much. He's wearing a tank top and plaid pajama bottoms that look too big on him, and he's still beautiful. His hands fly to cover up his stomach when he sits, which is poking out a bit, but Harry flushes with happiness at this. Louis's always eaten like a bird and it concerns Harry greatly sometimes, so to know that he's eating well is more than a good thing. 

"So, what-"

"I love you," Harry says, tries to keep the emotion from his voice at the frown that etches itself across Louis's face, "I love you. But I also hate you."

"Um."

"Do you know why? Because you always do this, Louis, you get close to me and then you leave." The attempt to remain nonchalant isn't working because he sounds like he's being strangled as he talks. "And I just don't understand why. Why do you even bother if you know you're not going to stick around? Why did you let me fall for you if you had no intention of letting it go anywhere?"

"That's not a fair accusation," Louis huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, "you never let it go anywhere either. You never did anything."

"We kissed, Louis. Multiple times. We spent nights together and fucking - _spooned_ , and shit - and. How is that not clear to you? Do you think I'd do all that shit if I wasn't interested?"

"You didn't let it mean anything, Harry, because you always said we were friends. You'd snog me until I couldn't breathe and then say we were just friends, so I went with it!"

"You're the one who started that! You said it too!" He's almost yelling now, but he doesn't care. It feels so good to get it off his chest.

"I-"

"Don't even make this my fault, fuck you, fuck you. I've been going through hell ever since you slept with someone else. I did it too, just to try... to try to make myself stop thinking about you for one second. And it didn't work. It will never work because I love you, you bastard." He tries so hard not to cry that it actually hurts a little. "You absolute bastard."

"But you know what I didn't say?" Louis mutters after a beat. "I never said I didn't want you to... love me. I never said that I didn't want you to kiss me or do all those things. I just. We never let it mean anything more than that. And I need more than that, Harry. I need someone to actually commit to me and... "

"That's what I was offering you when I called that day. I was offering everything. And you shot me down. You slept with someone else."

"So did you!" Louis retaliates, standing up and pointing at Harry angrily. "Don't even go there."

"I did it to forget!" Harry protests, but it sounds even more stupid out loud. 

"And you think I  _didn't_?" Louis is actually yelling. He's yelling and so is Harry and it should feel good, because this is the closure he thought he needed, but it doesn't. "You think I slept with someone else because I didn't... want you, or something?"

"You made it pretty loud and fucking clear when we talked, yeah. You don't want me," he hisses, feeling almost as angry as Louis looks. 

"You don't get to tell me how I feel about you, Harry. That's for me to decide." Louis takes a step closer. "I've wanted you since the first time we kissed, you idiot, I've always wanted you. But you let me walk away. Have you ever stopped to consider how that might've made me feel?"

"I've been too busy having my heart broken," he snaps in response, and Louis keeps stepping closer and he takes Harry's face in his hands. Looking into Louis's eyes makes his heart ache. Badly. 

"You let me walk away," Louis mutters, eyes shining, and Harry stops. Just for a second. He can see the hurt in Louis's eyes and he knows, now, he can see it - they're both at fault. 

"We're both idiots," he says, and Louis sniffles in confirmation. "We both are, aren't we?" He leans forward to rest their foreheads together. "I let you walk away. But you never stopped me. You never said anything... and neither did I. And we both slept with someone else."

Louis is quiet for a minute. "Mine... didn't go anywhere. I couldn't. I can't date anyone else, Harry, it hurts too bad. I can't do it."

"I slept with a bloody girl, Louis," he laughs dryly, "I hated every second of it. Was picturing you, to be honest."

Louis bites his lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Louis closes his eyes for a moment. "This isn't me trying to turn you away but... can I just think about this for a second? You can stay here. I'm gonna go make some more tea because mine's gone cold and we can just watch a film, let it all settle a bit. And then we can talk again. Okay?"

"Okay." Louis slips away from him and grabs his mug, and Harry has to put his hands behind his back to physically stop himself from reaching out to grab Louis as he walks away. Louis disappears around a corner and Harry settles back onto the couch. 

The dog stares at him some more from where it's laying. Harry imagines it's probably old as well, because it doesn't seem to give a shit that he just had a screaming match with Louis. And now they're going to watch his film.

"All couples fight," he informs the dog conversationally, and the word rolls so easily off his tongue. Couple. He has to fight back a smile. 

Louis returns within a few minutes with a second mug to match his own. It's full of hot chocolate and Harry thanks him about a million times as Louis puts in a random film and sits next to Harry. At first, there's a good few inches of space between them. Harry isn't sure if Louis's moving or if he is, but by the halfway point of the movie their thighs are pressed together. By the time it's over, Louis is on Harry's lap with his head tucked under Harry's chin and Harry's arm around his waist. 

He doesn't question it because it feels so good after the past two weeks of silence. Louis still smells like Louis, like his cologne and shampoo and like tea. When the credits roll Louis sits up and goes to move off of him, but Harry grabs him without thinking and kisses him square on the lips.

Louis's hands tangle in his hair almost immediately and. 

They don't move for a while after that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on the tumblr if you want to be one of the cool kids


End file.
